


A tale of Reapers, Love, Death - and Ivy

by GothicReaper



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action & Romance, Deranged humor, F/M, Fluff'n'Smut, POV First Person, the F-word is used. A lot., trigger-happy maniacs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 173,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4825508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothicReaper/pseuds/GothicReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if you have to be cast into darkness in order to find the light?<br/>When the harbinger of a relentless army looms just beyond the horizon and the world is on the brink of war, it is up to a broken hero and a fallen archangel to turn the tides. Except they are not what they used to be...<br/>Driven by action, blood and ungodly sarcasm; rated M for language & sexy scenes. Uh wait. That's smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue ~ Sleepwalking in a Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [All the maniacs out there who just can't stop obsessing over this game](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=All+the+maniacs+out+there+who+just+can%27t+stop+obsessing+over+this+game).



> What the story NOT is:  
> \- a tight-ass serious recap of the game's events  
> \- a third person view thing  
> \- a show-off in perfect writing or perfect english  
> \- featuring characters, that are always 100% *true*  
> \- stuffed with scenes so incredibly awesome, creative and passionate that they always leave you utterly thrilled or hilariously amused (or with wet pants at that)  
> If it would be, I would happily change my line of work.
> 
> But what the story IS:  
> \- an imperfect, first person, two POV (switch indicator: ~V~) sometimes thrashy road trip to the dark side of my deranged humor  
> \- roughly following the game but with *I hope* quite some new ideas and shots at smoothing over the worst plot holes  
> \- featuring two issue-ladden heroes fighting side by side along a path filled with anguish, blood, violence and oh-so-sweet love  
> \- straightly coming from my twisted little heart. Always.
> 
> Oh, and don't forget to check out my chapter songs every once in a while.  
> Feedback. I loo-oove feedback.
> 
> So... that's it for now. I hope you will enjoy the ride as much as I do.
> 
> +o+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+

Fight me now once again,  
With all your pride and magnificence  
Feel the strength that I possess  
Activated by your arrogance  
Draw the line  
Draw the line  
  
Consider me your worst enemy  
This breaking point is mine to defeat,  
Prepare to fall  
Prepare to fall!  
_  
Trail of Tears – Eradicate_

 

**Prologue ~ Sleepwalking in a Nightmare**

Death.

Is it really the final end? Or rather as society wants us to believe just a stopover; a shifting point that would merely lead us to some different kind of existence?

Guess, I still haven't made up my mind on that specific point, despite that she was - as for every soldier - an ever present companion since I entered the turian military at fifteen. She? Yes. I might not be a particularly spiritual man, but on those days it was just all too easy to picture death as some female deity like the drell do. Well, that is without the excessive flowery poetics - which are in my book an inapt obsession for _any_ heterosexual male regardless his species.

You see, death is hardly about equality or inevitability; let alone finding peace in dark tranquility beneath the wings of some benevolent goddess or waiting for your beloved one across the sea. It's about cynicism in its purest form; a cruel joke, a shot in the back when you're the most vulnerable, delivered with the unforgiving precision of a first-rate marksman. A relentless hunter prowling the outskirts of our life, just waiting to snatch away those you cared for whenever you stopped looking.

Very feminine if you ask me but perhaps that's just my own prejudiced opinion.

Sounds bitter? You have no idea. Maybe the problem is that things had already started to go sour the day I returned to a hellishly short-staffed C-Sec - and trust me I had wrestled with the decision on more sleepless nights than I'd like to admit. But in the end it had been that one confident voice, constantly appealing to my sense of duty and so convinced of my abilities that tipped the scale.

More, it filled with pride, and the certainty that I would be able to rebel against the system somehow – I was, after all, one of the heroes who had saved the Citadel.

Well… guess this naïve turian really really should have known better.

In any way, the bitter truth caught up with me real quick: nothing had changed. C-Sec was still hamstrung by red tape and most certainly would always be, business had returned to its usual pace even before Tayseri Ward stopped burning, while the Council was doing the one thing they truly excelled at: glossing over. Evidence vanished down the archives' vaults and slowly but surely the perception of events changed. But I grinded my teeth and held on; because that confident voice, the voice of a _friend_ , had convinced me that it was the damn right thing to do.

Day by day by day.

Until the news of the destruction of the Normandy reached us.

With the most influential (or loudest and most inconvenient to be precise) opposition gone, the Council had no scruples to morph the attacker from gigantic alien space ship into geth vessel in short order. They didn't even care that it was almost twice the size of _any_ known geth dreadnought. And everybody just believed. No questions asked.

My frustration turned into anger.

Anger at the Council's lack of interest in the truth. Anger at all the evil out there and that everybody wanted me to sit on my hands and watch. Anger at losing yet another friend to death's voracious claws.

My ire grew, a simmering pressure that tugged and gnawed on me until one thought became paramount: get the hell out.

So why Omega? Did a part of me actually believe the "Black Citadel" to be the lesser, albeit the more honest, of two evils? Well, yes and no. Above all I believed that here I wouldn't care. That while hunting society's worst scum and reveling in a much darker side of myself, I would eventually stop feeling the increasing exasperation that had infested my mind.

I was wrong.

While Garrus Vakarian fell deeper, Archangel climbed out from the abyss. The blood of the despicable soaked Omega's streets and it felt good. So fucking good. I once more had a purpose, a team, and yet… There I was, finally living my little selfish dream, able to enforce the _real_ justice I'd been denied for so long - and yet my restlessness was growing even worse. I was haunted, not only by the ghosts of my past but also by these new demons that pushed me away from the white side ever further. Months passed; refined hunter and killer by day, a broken man eaten away by bitterness at night.

Until eventually I realized that deep down I still held on to a different dream. To the taste of a different life that could and would never be again; and as long as a part of me chained itself to these memories, my future would hold nothing but misery. With the epiphany finally came this one moment when I _accepted_ and was ready to move on.

And the next?

The next I barreled through the hole a set of explosives had ripped into the wall of our hideout and right into the carnage that was already waiting for me, and I swore I could hear her laughing in triumph. Death had done it again; but this time she stabbed me in the back and ripped away everything.

This the dulled and soulless gunmetal orbs drove home with relentless clarity. I wanted to look away but I couldn't. The dead gaze bound me, trapped me in this terrible nightmare that unfolded around me. The sort with no wake-up to break its grip. Minutes passed; and with each I forced myself into memorizing another detail of Mierin's beautiful face.

My vision blurred and I finally allowed myself to blink. I was still kneeling on the floor in the small room we had turned into our makeshift armory in one of Omega's shabby apartments. I tore my gaze away from the slim turian body I had cradled in my arms, only to look at the bulk of a krogan corpse. Another slaughtered friend, left to drown in the puddle of his own orange blood. I could barely contain the rage boiling up anew in me.

They were all dead.

Mierin. Erash. Monteague. Grundan Krul. Sidonis.

Each name brought another hot-searing slash, and I soaked in the anguish; allowed it to bite deep and leave its mark on my soul.

Ripper. Sensat. Vortash. Butler. Weaver. Melanis.

Because ultimately it was the much-valued turian pride, they paid for with their lives.

My pride.

I took a deep breath, struggling for composure. I needed to move; it wasn't save here. The killer commando could come back anytime; looking for me. I brushed Mierin's cheek for the last time then closed her eyes, mumbling a short prayer for her Spirit to find home.

Some customs died hard.

Numb, I got up and ghosted across the damaged room, sidestepping debris and parts of the ceiling. The attackers hadn't left much to chance with those explosives. I kneeled at the air vent next to the weapon bench and ripped the grille away to fish out the canvas bag filled with ammo that had escaped the detonation and the raiders due to Monteague's increasing paranoia. Who would have thought the crazy little human biotic had been right all along?

I shouldered my gear and walked over to Grundan Krul. I pulled out the chain that always dangled around the krogan's neck, then freed the small carved piece of bone and put it in my pocket. I probably could never make good on this promise, but you never know. _This_ Spirit would certainly find a way to make my life even more miserable if I wouldn't try.

I straightened, new determination forming a solid wall against the grief that churned inside.

_They'll pay; first with their screams and then with their lives._

I pulled out my knife from its sheath on my calf and nicked my palm with the tip. Blue welled up and a few drops trickled to the floor before I clenched my fist with a wordless snarl.

_By honor and blood, this I swear…_

I stepped through the door and to the rest of my team; some killed by the explosion, the rest in their attempt to defend their lives.

And in my head, the madman's mantra started anew:

Mierin. Erash. Monteague. Grundan Krul. Sidonis.

Wait.

Suddenly a realization hit me, its impact nauseating like a sledgehammer punch to the gut. There were eleven names… But only ten bodies…

It begged just one question: where the hell was Sidonis?

 


	2. Death’s rejected

Shadows extending into the night  
To hunt and haunt her  
A sacrifice of virtue, made her see

Flame burns deep  
Blade cuts deeper  
Shaping flesh and soul as one  
Carving a new beginning  
From death unleashed  
From shadows spawned

_Siebenbürgen - A crimson coronation_

* * *

**~ Death's rejected ~  
**

Thump…

Thu-thump…

"..pard…"

Thu-thump… thu-thump…

"…ake up…"

Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.

"…won't wak…"

"…try …gain…"

Thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump

"Shep… eed… wake…"

Air. Noises. A pulsing drum. Was this… My. Heart? Cold. Dark. But not black.

Pain…

"Shepard!"

_Breath!_

I inhaled with a sharp gasp and awareness rushed into me as through a flood gate opened wide.

Darkness greeted me… I… I couldn't see! Alarm and confusion rocked my mind until I realized that my eyes were still closed. For a small eternity I struggled against the weight of my lids. The dark split into a line of light. There were… blurry colors and bright patches. From somewhere to my right I heard soft beeps. Their unnerving pattern was disrupted by a distant alert's rising and falling. I wrinkled my nose at a biting scent. Antiseptics.

Where? Where was I… ?

I shivered. Below me was a hard cool surface and its chill had spread from by back throughout my whole body. Heavy arms protesting, I hugged myself for warmth. Numb fingers touched bare skin. _My_ bare skin.

"Shepard, you need to wake up!"

The high-pitched female voice that had wakened me cut through my consciousness again. Was this hell? It certainly wasn't heaven, for heaven would have greeted me with a cup of steaming coffee and a chair on the beach, instead of freezing limbs and voices yelling at me.

Slowly, my vision cleared and tried to make sense of my environment. The first thing I saw was a ceiling painted white and neon tubes. One of them was flickering faintly. I turned my head sideways and saw… cabinets. Flasks. Screens. Strange apparatus. Was this… a lab? There was more. Tubes. Syringes. Infusion bags. Gray walls forming an optical symbiosis with equipment made from stainless steel. Together they radiated all the charms of a high-tech morgue. Somehow, I had always imagined hell to be more the fire and brimstone kind of place...

An orange emblem, rotating on one of the screens caught my eyes. It was hexagon-shaped, opened at the bottom and flanked left and right by a line.

Oh fuck, shit.

Mesmerized, I stared at it unmoving, while my thoughts jumped about like a freaked-out squirrel that couldn't find its nut. I squeezed my eyes shut.

_This isn't real. This isn't real…_

However, when I opened them again, the emblem was still there. Cerberus. Heaven help me, I had woken in a frigging Cerberus lab. On a steel table! Naked! My stomach heaved. Vivid images of gross experiments performed on defenseless bodies crawled into my thoughts unbidden. Images born from memory, not fantasy. There had been dozens of victims in that facility on Binthu. They all had died in pain. And then there was Akuze… Quickly I subdued the memories before they could initiate a chain reaction that would end with me falling into mindless terror.

"We have a Code Red! Now get your ass moving!"

Even with my mind hovering on the brink of panic I stiffened. My urges to act on orders issued by random strangers ran already low on ordinary days – and this one dragged 'ordinary' out to the backyard and blew its brains out with a sawed-off shotgun. More, the absurdity of the whole situation triggered some natural defensive reflex, not even a decade of Alliance drill had managed to subdue.

I opened my mouth – and all that came out was a meager croak.

_What the…_

An explosion boomed somewhere below and cut off my silent protests. A split second later its shock wave reached the room with a low tremor, rattling flasks and vials. I smelled smoke. Short bangs started pounding in a furious staccato not far away. Gunfire. I gritted my teeth and pressed my heels further against the hard surface.

"Shepard, what are you doing for god's sake? MOVE!"

Fat chance. My fingers clasped the edges of the table in a death grip. My muscles tensed and I clenched my jaws. The smoke thickened. The gunfire drew closer. And closer. Arrg. One day my stupid authority issues would get me killed.

Just… not today.

I rolled to the side and worked myself upright, each movement sending short painful pangs along my nerves. Finally, my legs dangled over the tables' edge. Wet strands of hair clung to my neck and nourished small rivulets that snaked down my collarbone. Too slow to be water. I brushed away a drop tickling my nose. The viscous substance smelled of nothing but started to dry onto my skin in a thin sticky layer. I looked down. An army of electrodes plastered my chest and I ripped them off, forcing the ECG machine into a fit of anxious shrieks before it died down. Steeling myself with a deep breath, I slid down the table. Only… at some point, my femoral muscles had turned into a numb, useless mass. My butt hit the ground with a loud thump.

_Oy. May I present: Commander Shepard, creation's crowning grace_.

A sharp tug at my right arm brought my attention to the IV sticking in there. I pulled the syringe out, fighting another moment of nausea at the feel of the needle twitching under my skin. Goddammit. I really hated those little bastards.

I started pounding at my numb thighs. Like watching a slug taking the stairs, sensation returned with painstaking slowness. The gunfire had stopped. I _had_ to get going. I reached up to the table and hoisted myself up. Somehow I even managed to stay upright and hang on to the last shards of my dignity.

_Serves you right. Why didn't you go down with your ship, as a decent commander would have?_

The thought froze me. Wait… I had gone down with the Normandy… I had shoved Joker into the emergency pod and then…

I heard a noise coming from the door and the Cerberus woman suddenly shouted, "Watch out! Mech!"

Caught in reflex, I shoved the table at the sound's direction and dove to the side, a bullet hissing past me, only a fraction of an inch away from my temple. The table crashed into something and I rolled back on my feet. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, overriding any feelings of pain or modesty. The world around me… sharpened. I tossed blonde sticky hair out of my face and found a sprawled mech caught under the overturned table, struggling to get free. The table heaved. With two leaps I reached the mech's arm trapped on my side. It was the one holding the gun. I wrenched it free, damaged two robot fingers permanently in the process, and leaned over the table's edge. The pistol spat thunder and the synthetic's motions stopped.

Exhaling, I rested my forehead for a short moment against the cool surface of the tabletop. That Cerberus woman had saved my life. It felt decidedly wrong. I rather liked my biases unambiguous and unquestioned.

Still hidden behind the overturned table I sneaked a glance at the gun in my hand. It was decently balanced and looked almost like one of Elanus Risk Striker's – though a version I had never seen before.

In the distance the fire alert was still rising and falling. I pushed away from the table and retreated two steps. Carefully I eyed the door, gun held high.

_What now, Sherlock?_

Somehow the thought of roaming buck naked through the burning halls of who-knows-what freaked-out Cerberus compound utterly failed to appease me. Maybe this was some weird kind of hell after all…

"Shepard, you need to go… There will be more hostiles soon," the Cerberus woman spoke up again.

No shit. "Look." I forced out the croaky monosyllable that sounded as if it had been stuck in my throat for far too long and rubbed my vocal cords raw. "I don't know who you are or why you're helping me. But I know you are Cerberus." I paused, waiting for an objection. There was none. "I wouldn't trust them with my rotten garbage. Why should I trust you?"

"I'm not your enemy. The mech…"

"Proves nothing!" I said, loading my voice with menace. "Who are you and where are we?" _And why the hell did I wake naked on a goddamn operating table, while we're at it?_

"Shepard, we have no time…"

I turned my head away from the door and scowled at the corner where I had spotted the surveillance camera. Flashing my lady bits to be probably preserved forever on some Cerberus high-sec cluster servers. Such a glamorous life I had...

"Fine. I'm CO Miranda Lawson and this is the Lazarus Research Station; headquarter to one of the most ambitious projects Cerberus ever raised."

"Aha. Which is…"

"Later. Our security was breached and the mechs were turned against us. They already killed most of the station's staff." There was a long exasperated sigh. "So, _please_ ; will you get out? I'll try to keep contact and guide you to my location. I tell you the rest then."

Like I was born yesterday.

"If this is a trick..." I began and finished with another hard stare, meticulously refusing to let my act of intimidation be demoralized by my own awe-inspiring appearance.

"No tricks. There must be some clips in the locker behind you. There should be clothes in there, too."

_Clips. As in ammo clips? Really?_

I thought wryly and turned around to open said locker's steel doors. Bright pink sweats with rows of black Cerberus emblems running down legs and sleeves stared back at me.

Oh, goodie. I had no doubts anymore: I _was_ in hell.

.~'*'~.

My world got clusterfucked at 25 minutes past noon.

I probably should mention for your benefit that - quite unusual for me - it didn't happened with havoc and bright lights, but rather unspectacular in form of a few words exchanged in front of a shuttle ready to take off, where I cornered two Cerberus henchmen long enough to finally spill out the truth.

"Don't you remember, Shepard?" Miranda Lawson - dark-haired, fair-skinned and armed with a lithe body that criminally advertised the Final Victory of jugs over gravitation - asked and my gaze shifted from her to Jacob Taylor - dark-skinned, broad-shouldered and from the looks he gave her probably her booty call. Their faces were caught somewhere between awkward silence and pitying commiseration. It caused an abyss to rip open at my feet and swallow me.

The problem was I did remember.

I had been sitting in the Mess and listened to Pressly moaning once again how far our efficiency had dropped since the _aliens_ left the ship. Alerts. Joker, shouting about the Normandy being attacked. Me, getting spaced. Suddenly, it was all there, including this fresh feel only a recent memory could have had. The pain. The fear. The anger at realizing I've failed. A cold darkness enfolding me. And then: nothing.

I had died. No, I _just_ had died. This was what my brain was telling me; that just two fucking hours ago I had died, while my crew and ship were turned into briquets. And yet… and yet I was back in the game, frigging impossible as it was.

_Congrats, Shepard; rejected by death._ _What's next? A batch stating "Universe's joke of the year"?_

Miranda Lawson suddenly came one step closer and peered concerned at my eyes.

"You're alright, Shepard? Shepard?"

She flicked her fingers twice and I blinked, finally snatching the loose threads of reality that had started to unravel around me. "How long…"

"Today is the 29th of August, 2185."

I rubbed my temples. Two years. Dead for two goddamn years. And at the same time, it was just moments. Oh, hell. I was firmly trapped on a ride that was racing full tilt towards Mad City; brakes and seat belts, all off.

Dragging my feet along in resignation, I followed the two Cerberus agents into the shuttle. Sure, I trusted them about as far as I could throw them but let's have a look at my choices... Ah, yes. There were none. Behind me, Lazarus Station was slowly burning to ashes. And unfortunately, _this_ was quite usual for me.

So I sat down across Lawson, the shuttle lifted off and I took a moment to listen to my body; because, frankly, that's what you do when you realize you've been dead. Unobtrusively I sniffed. But no, there was no lingering odor of decay, no shuffling edge to my motions and - I assure you - no overpowering need whatsoever to jump at my illustrious vis-à-vis to gorge at her highly sophisticated cerebral cortex.

_Mhmm, brainz._

I snickered at my own thoughts then cringed at being watched while insane. I needed to get a grip. I took a deep breath and watched the blackness of space outside. The sight washed away all my twisted mirth like fresh paint on a picket fence in a downpour. If I closed my eyes… No. I was alive. For now. I couldn't fight off all memories, though.

"Please, give me the list," I said to Lawson, holding out my hand.

"What are you talking about?" The woman asked in ignorance. I was buying not an inch of it.

"Miss Lawson – Miranda – I just found out that my dead ass was resurrected by an organization that ranks in my personal opinion not far behind batarian slavers, people clubbing baby seals to death and Citadel's tax officials. How much patience do you exactly think I have left in me? So, stop dicking around and hand me the goddamn list or I swear you'll regret waking me before the mechs had the chance to eviscerate me in my sleep."

There. All nice and friendly. Why Taylor flinched in his seat was beyond me. Lawson finally released a huff, typed something into the datapad, she had been clutching all the time as if it was her purse and this was Omega, and placed it in my outstretched palm. I scanned it and it was long. By the time I reached the last entry, I felt like sickening up.

21 names glared at me from a list that had a big fat 'you suck at your job' written all over it.

21 people, I had been in charge of, who had trusted me to keep them in one piece, just dead and gone. Killed by a species, considered a myth among the rank and file of Citadel space. The day those myths stopped coming to life and pound at my door, I would surely thank the universe on my knees.

My eyes fell on the names again. Draven, Talitha. Suddenly, I wanted very badly to hurl the datapad against the wall and beat the shit out of it.

22 then.

_Damn you, girl! Why haven't you told me earlier? - And why haven't_ you _suspected earlier, Commander Smartass?_

I strangled the sarcastic bitch roaming around in my head. This was useless. No matter what, Talitha and her unborn child would still be buried six feet under. Or rather not, considering the footage of the crash site attached.

This was so…

I clenched my fist and locked my jaw. The constant string of revelations, varying from unpleasant to outright shattering, was finally taking its toll. An almost forgotten hot feeling was rapidly pushing its way towards the surface. Rage. Pure, luring and oh-so-dangerous. A spidery hairline crack fissured across the crystalline shell that was Shepard.

And deep inside me, something snapped its eyes open.

_Oh no, you won't…_

I shoved the snarling beast back into the dark pit where it had crawled out, and started counting from ten backwards. When I reached four, I was calm, collected and most important, in full control of myself.

Oblivious to my inner struggle with myself, Lawson took the datapad back. Her face lost even the last trails of sympathy in favor of shifting back to this certain blend of sophisticated confidence and mildly contempt, she couldn't quite hide. "I'm sorry, Shepard, I can imagine this isn't easy for you, but we have to make sure you are fully operative."

_Translation: I want to confirm that you're not nuttier than a fruitcake before I let you off the leash._

I barely kept myself from rolling my eyes at her. She had saved my life after all. A little civility wouldn't kill me. Unfortunately, I knew her type better than I'd have liked to. Correct to point of pain-in-the-ass and not far off from having an unhealthy obsession with little checklists and their ticking sequence - Alliance Administration was grooming them into perfection. We usually didn't get along too well.

"Miranda," Taylor then interposed, "do you really believe those questions necessary? One might think if something's off with the Commander, we'd have realized it by now."

I gave a small start but he just kept looking at me with this open, trust inspiring expression that made me itch all over and scan my surroundings for hidden knives. There was no such thing as benevolence in the world where I came from. It didn't matter that my mind and my gut told me that this was an honest attempt at help - some instincts had simply been drilled in too deeply to be ever overwritten with common sense.

With a nod I acknowledged Taylor's concern then focused again on the dark-haired woman.

"Thanks, but let's just get over with it. What do you need to know this time?" I said in resignation. Refusal would probably do nothing but prolong my sufferings. I dug an energy bar, I had found back in the lab behind the box of clips, from the pocket of my hideous outfit. Flavored vanilla.

Yuck. Why me?

.~'*'~.

I glared at the man sitting across from me. Perhaps "sitting" wasn't the quite correct term. Wearing a suit easily three times a soldier's monthly salary and eyes glowing unnaturally, the Cerberus honcho did his best to look the king reclining in his throne. A king pestered by an especially ignoble peasant - namely me. After giving me another muster – _yes it's pink, get over it!_ – the Illusive Man spoke up again.

"Well, Shepard, how will you decide?"

This offer… It smelled worse than fish three weeks dead. No, make that fish three weeks dead, which had been lodged up deep deep deep inside a vorcha's ass. Of course I had to decline. Who gives a crap about passing GO and collecting the 200 creds these days, anyway? In the back of my head, though, the voice of reason rambled on about the all the magnificent bargaining power stitchless cast aways held in their sticky little hands.

Dammit. You might have realized by now, that I'd rather have died than cut a deal with Cerberus…

Oh, wait. Heh, heh. Too late.

"Let's assume for a minute, I'd go with this. What makes you believe I'm able to stop the events coming for us single-handedly? What if there are hundreds like Sovereign, or thousands, or millions?" Of course, just as well the Sovereign could have been the last demented relict of an ancient race, sputtering tons and tons of bull. But that would be almost like finding a cute little beach bar on Noveria – impo-shove-it-up-your-ass-ssible. I couldn't hold back my short bitter laugh, though. "Last time _I_ checked I was still mere mortal. Whatever you did to me in your labs, I highly doubt you could change that."

"There's more to you than you might think, Shepard. You're not just another soldier, no matter how hard you try to delude yourself. You are a symbol. When the forebodings of war arise, you will be the guiding light humanity needs to be at their strongest."

There it was. The hero stamp I'd always dreaded. If anyone was ever in for a closer look, they would see I was anything but a hero. Just a mere soldier caught in her never-ending battle against disaster spreading. I lost my ship; I lost my crew. Why anyone even bothered to search for my corpse was beyond me.

"I know you have your difficulties with working for Cerberus, but what about the colonies? Don't you want the means to help them; to _save_ them?"

_Motherfucker._ He had me with that, and we both knew it. Despite the fact that life had tried very hard to turn me into an uncaring sociopath there would always be this part of me which would rather lop off my right arm before walking away from those whose life I could save. It was the reason why I still felt a weird kind of guilt for leaving New York and why vivid dreams of death, blood and acid rain haunted too many of my nights.

I allowed the silence to stretch a little longer, just for the sake of it. Cornered, desperate and still too obstinate to go down without a fight – yep, the story of my life.

"I might help you - _might_ \- but there are conditions," I began slowly and held up my index finger, starting to count. "First, I'm in command; if I say a risk isn't taken, you'll accept it. Second: The team? Who's in and who's not? My decision. And the efforts to contact my old squad are kept up." I stared at him in defiance.

"Anything else?" he asked smugly.

"I need resources freely at my disposal. I'll tell you beforehand; a mission like this is cost-intensive. You can have Lawson monitor the expenses if it makes you feel better. Ah, yes - and no screening of private communication, neither mine, nor the crew's."

"You voice high demands for someone I recently spent four billions on to revive." He took a deep pull on his cigarette and exhaled through his nose. It reminded me of an angry krogan about to charge.

"You missed one crucial point: I _never_ asked for you to bring me back from the dead." I stabbed the air in front of me with my index finger to drive my argument home. "You did all of this just for one friggin' reason - because you realized the Reapers aren't just a pretty little myth - and now you need someone to carry the can. We both knew that Sovereign was just the scout, the forerunner, of something much more dire. I _will_ see that we are as prepared as we can get – but it's done _my_ way.

"Ahh, and one more thing."

He gave me a sharp look. Yep, I kept pushing his buttons. Too bad, reason wasn't exactly my first virtue.

"My terms are not open for negotiations." I crossed my arms before my chest to keep my fist from shaking at him.

At that he started to clap his hands in a mocking applause. My eyes narrowed. "Shepard, I see you are still yourself. I never expected you to accept my offer without reservations. You may have your way - as long as you don't forget who finances that expedition in the first place."

"Most unlikely. I assume Lawson will be my XO?"

He inclined his head. "Your assumption is correct. She will report your progress to me."

Which meant, she was going to spy on me for all her cute little ass was worth, duh.

"And Shepard? We have a common goal in this. Don't fail because of the inability to put your distrust on hold for a time."

"Don't worry. The Reapers make sure my tolerance limit has risen significantly."

"I'm glad that you see the prudence of this cooperation. In the meantime, you should go to Freedom's Progress and see the extent of the menace for yourself. The colony was the last to be abducted. We suspect someone is working with the Reapers. Find out as much as you can." His fingers tapped the console on his chair, breaking the communication.

Why did I feel as if I had just invited the devil to rape my body and run off with my immortal soul?

.~'*'~.

When I left the holopad, Miranda Lawson was already waiting for me.

"Shepard, here's someone I'm sure you'd like to meet..."

A man wearing Cerberus uniform topped by one of those obnoxious baseball caps, turned from his place at the observation window. My eyes widened. I knew this guy.

"Hey Commander, long time no see!"

"Joker? What… What are you doing here?" I asked incredulously, while shaking hands with one of the last persons I had expected to see since waking to this nightmare.

"Well, I was offered the chance to take part in another neck-breaking adventure with my most favorite commander. I couldn't resist. Besides, after we lost the Normandy, the Alliance had me grounded and you know I'm only half a man without my pilot seat… Are you alright? They told me you wouldn't be up for another four weeks…"

"Not sure if I'd call it alright but it's definitely improvement. Compared to 'very dead' at least."

"Cheerful as always. Hey…" He stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. A quick look around showed Lawson out of earshot and discussing the contents of a datapad with Taylor. Poor guy probably messed up some lists. "How was it? Dying, I mean…"

I flinched. I had spent the last hours more or less successfully ignoring the obvious and the question stirred up more dubious things than a stick poking around in a filthy puddle of mud. Before my memory could sabotage the conversation any further I said, "Dark, cold and very unpleasant... Look, I'd rather not talk about it."

"Commander, I… I'm sorry." He said, face contorted into a mask of anguish and guilt. "Really. If it wasn't for you coming back… It should have been me going down with the Normandy, not you..."

I waved it away with a wry grin, trying to lighten the mood. Trust me, downtrodden is a look you want to avoid on your flight lieutenant at all costs. "Don't mention it. You know me, given the chance, I would do it again every time. Besides," a small laugh escaped me, "do you really think Cerberus would have spent a fortune to bring _you_ back?"

"Probably no… Hey! Are you telling me I'm _not_ the most awesome helmsman this universe has ever seen?"

I winked at him. "For me? Anytime. I'm just not so sure about Cerberus. Their skill at detecting awesomeness seems to be lacking to an alarming degree _…_ "

He snorted. "At least they show potential if it comes to the revival business. I don't know if they already told you, but you're not the only one they dug up from the grave."

Suddenly he was the very image of a man with a new and _really_ expensive toy.

"Look," Joker pointed towards the windows of the space station, "they take her out for her first ride…"

There was a ship. A huge ship. A ship I was very familiar with… The… Normandy? "Wow…"

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he whispered solemnly. I had never seen Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau anywhere near solemn.

Unobtrusively, I pinched my arm. Perhaps it was all just a feverish dream and I had just nodded off at Pressly's drone. I stopped because my nails drew blood. Fuck. No dreaming then.

"And she's all ours… Well, aside from our two Cerberus nannies, here." He turned to me again, a big grin suddenly plastered on his face. "By the way, I like this new outfit. Makes you look kind of… harmless. I could almost mistake you for one of those special fellows collecting used tin cans…"

I threw up my hands in despair. "Miranda! Please, please tell me there are clothes on this blasted station… I don't care what, even a potato sack is probably better than this... _thing_."

The taller woman stalked over to me and bestowed me with one of her small, precise smiles.

"Don't worry, I've something even better..." she said and led me to a small armory at the far end of the station.

She wasn't lying. On the armory's table, next to a bundle of functional clothes was a black armor, obviously made for a woman. With mixed feelings I ran my fingers over the dark aramid fibers. Cerberus had been thorough with their homework. Worryingly thorough. The thing looked almost like my old armor – if you were willing to ignore the small obnoxious Cerberus logo where the N7 used to be. Nothing a quick brush with the magic marker wouldn't fix and yet… The moral dilemma its existence presented was undisputable.

_So you're officially a terrorist now?_ The bitch in my head asked acidly and utterly unfazed by my lack of reasonable and ethical correct choices since waking – and I think you're with me in this; held hostage until I eventually changed my mind followed reason into a dark alley and hit it over the head.

Cerberus. Well, on the bright side I likely no longer had to write a report every time I got shot.

Quickly I undressed and shoved the pink sweats into the trash – setting them on fire was unfortunately not an option on a space station. I put on the spandex and armor then left the room; geared up and snickering despite the guilt worming through me for accepting Cerberus bribes. I didn't have to greet my new crew looking like freshly broken out from Moron City. Yay.

From here things could only go upwards, right?

.~'*'~.

I heaved a sigh and focused on my surroundings once more.

I stood in the entry of one of the larger living complexes, trying to force a clue at what had happened here on Freedom's Progress into announcing itself by the sheer power of my will. If my life were a video game, by now there would have certainly been a huge arrow popping up somewhere, stating "Check out this box – major hint inside". As it was though, I was confronted with the sobering reality: all I had was an empty colony and a cavalcade of unanswered questions that made me look like Joe Dirt.

I picked up a green plush dino, discarded to the floor, once belonging to a little boy or girl. They even took the kids… It was sad. Just heart-wrenching sad.

The Terminus Systems weren't a particularly safe part of the galaxy, so most colonies there had at least a small militia and some rudimental means to defend themselves against pirates, slavers and other criminals, who'd believe the colonists easy meat. The absence of any noticeable signs of resistance worried me. Either Freedom Progress' colonists had known the attackers or… or the enemy had stroke out with sheer overpowering force.

"Commander! I think we found something!" Taylor announced with a shout to capture my attention. I sat the toy onto the cabinet near the door and headed out of the building, towards the two Cerberus agents, hunching over something on the hard-packed ground.

I looked over Lawson's shoulder at a… bug, the size of my palm. No, not really a bug; a small synthetic unit looking like an insect, perfectly constructed with translucent wings and a dark, glistering carapace. My guts told me that we wern't looking at some new fancy toy.

"What the friggin' hell is that…" I mumbled in puzzlement.

"No idea, Commander. I've never seen its like…" she stated, and carefully nudged the thing with her finger. Suddenly it started to glow as if powering up; clapping its wings in a wild staccato to rise for several inches. Instinctively, we all drew back. As abrupt as it had started, the energy vanished again and the bug dropped to the ground.

I eyed the mini bot askew. "Whoa – guess we better take you with us…"

"Agreed." Lawson nodded and procured a small plastic box devised to contain probes from the satchel dangling down her side. With a pair of small tongs, also from her bag, she grabbed the bug and put it into the box. Then she pulled out a roll of Duct Tape and wrapped it tightly around the plastic. She shrugged at me. "Better safe than sorry."

She stored the taped box in her bag, and I sneaked a peek at a pedant's wet handbag dream. Neat rows of small and mid-sized pockets crowded the inner side, each of them filled as meticulously as if to follow some mysterious higher order. Somehow my bags always turned into a rather dismal grave for loose change, old chapsticks, stripes of chewing gum and the occasional switchblade.

"Hey… You don't have by chance anything eatable in there? I'm starving…" I asked, fantasizing about that chewing gum which probably had already formed an inseparable unity with old nickels and lints. Oh boy. Was there _anything_ to stop my free fall into patheticness?

She tossed me another energy bar and I wolfed it down, smiling at her as if she had invited me to… what was this place everyone bragged about? Ah yes. Ryuusei sushi. She snickered softly while rearranging the plastic box for a second time. Perhaps there was some hope for us after all.

Taylor had turned away and was watching the perimeter. We were in a wide corridor, flanked left and right by the standardized two-storied living complexes, the Systems Alliance's Frontier Division built up in all its colonies. His posture tensed. "Something's off. We should…"

There.

"Heads up! Hostiles from the left!" I shouted and skittered into cover behind the stairs leading to the second floor of the left building. Right in time – for only seconds later a small fleet of security drones arrived, firing missiles at us. A low boom made me peek around the stairs. Oh great, they brought a YMIR Mech to the parade. And all I had was my little gun and the doubtful capacity five of those thermal clips provided… Damn but I missed my old Stiletto.

I gestured towards Lawson, who kneeled behind a crate across from me and she send an EMP to overload the shields of the mech, allowing Taylor a critical hit at its sensors. Rockets sizzled around my ears and I took the nearest drones out with my gun. Two down, and another six to go. Piece of cake.

" _Shepard_?" A new voice suddenly shouted incredulously over the gun fire from above me. I raised my head to find a very familiar and utterly unexpected shape, hooded and armed with a shotgun, looking down from the balcony.

"Hey Tali, care to lend us a hand?"

**.~'*'~.**

I stared at the paused video tape, feeling like hit between the eyes. "Damn it, are you sure?"

"I'm afraid so, Shepard…" my quarian friend said, her usual crisp accent thick with worry. She pointed at one of figures on the screen, "Look here, the triangular head, the chitinous exoskeleton; they match the descriptions perfectly."

I released another string of vile curses and kicked against the nearby wall. If that was some kind of joke, then it ranked with pocking a socket-outlet with a needle or sticking your hands into a cage full of rabid varren.

Alright, the universe had coughed up the requested clue and what could I say? It did so _not_ hint at some ragged thugs suffering of the delusion to come back at the Alliance in some dubious act of revenge. _No-ooo_ , of course it _had_ to be some obscure race of baleful insectoids, which suddenly had the brilliant idea to pimp up their rainy afternoons with ransacking human colonies. Had right this moment a cloud shaped like a middle finger drifted across the sky, it wouldn't have surprised me much.

"Okay," I said, while massaging my temples. A headache was coming. No surprise there. "So what facts do we have about the Collectors?"

Tali shrugged. "As I said, the Flotilla itself never encountered them, but the records state of occasional sightings in the Terminus Systems. It's presumed they come through the Omega 4 relay, but so far I haven't heard of any proof of this theory."

"Bastards are trading tech and weapons for slaves," Taylor said scowling from his look out at the bunker's entrance. In unison, three pairs of concentrated female skepticism fastened on him, forcing him into elaboration. "I once engaged a band of slavers on Omega and they had disturbingly advanced tech with them. Claimed it to be of Collector's origin."

Peachy. Just damn peachy. "So essentially, we knew close to nothing, right?" My question was met with silence, so I turned to the dark haired woman, who was uploading the video footage into the Normandy's database for further examination. "Well, Miranda; now would be the perfect timing to reveal that Cerberus entertains secret archives with detailed information about the Collectors' bio data, combat strategies and breakfast preferences…"

"It's just that simple for you, isn't it?" she replied sourly. "We _have_ classified records on non-council species, but our data concerning the Collectors is just as scarce as the Flotilla's. That's why we should take Veetor, his knowledge might be crucial for our mission."

"No, Shepard," Tali huffed, arms akimbo in a display of angry bravery that somehow still managed to send out this cute vibes. "I won't allow Cerberus to abduct him! He needs the care of his people and no interrogation by those terroristic xenophobes!"

"I'm NOT a terrorist!" Lawson hissed like a little indignant tea kettle, face reddening. "Shepard, he is evidence!"

I snatched my hand away from my temple. In front of me, Veetor the colony's only survivor, was hugging himself, rocking back and forth in his chair, all the while mumbling to himself. The only word I caught was _sakysh_ – a quarian word for demon. The poor guy was scared out of his mind. I gazed at the dark haired woman in disbelief.

"Will you just _look_ at him? He's done. The only thing he can possibly evidence is that his wits made a run for the next solar system!"

The Cerberus agent was about to object again, her complexion darkening even further. She must be tearing me apart in her head limb by limb – too bad it was me yanking the chains in here. After another eternity in which we stared at each other like strange cats in an alley, she exhaled, forcing down her ire.

"Fine, Commander. It will be as you say."

I nodded. "And I'm sure Tali's willing to send us all the details, if Veetor remembers anything important. Isn't it _so_?" I asked the quarian mechanic with a raised brow. Better to choke off any smug replies of hers beforehand; otherwise the Cerberus agent might yet explode like a box of lit firecrackers.

"Yes, I'll do. I promise. Thank you, Shepard." Tali said and gave my shoulder a quick squeeze then maneuvered Veetor out of his chair.

She was about to head for the exit, as I touched the alien's arm, halting her steps. "Tali… I know this is rushed but… Will you join me on the Normandy? You know… like the good old times? Joker and the Doc would love to see you, too."

God, I was so pathetic.

She turned to me. I tried to peer at her face but all the opaque mask of her full-body bio-suit gave away was my own faint reflection. Then she sighed and shook her head with sincere regret – at least that was what I told myself. "I'm sorry, Shepard. Really. But the mission for the Flotilla is my first priority. And Cerberus…" She pointedly raised her chin at the two agents. "You might have your good reasons for this… but _I_ don't trust those treacherous _bosh'tet_. I hope you know what you're doing… Take care. I'll contact you, okay?"

I dropped my hand, resigned. I had my serious doubts about that.


	3. Another day in paradise

Hear my scream  
I break the seal  
An impulse of me revived  
And as I fill my lungs  
It's hard to breath  
Like I was born inside a dream

Let it out  
Of my sanity  
It's a source of my serenity  
I'm not the man I used to be  
I still resent it's sanity

Walking in circles  
As I open up my eyes  
It's like I never stop and then wake up  
  
So wake me up to an everlasting afterlife  
It is designed from the secrets I hide  
So set me free  
And this time you'll be electrified  
The future leaves nothing behind  
It's my afterlife  
  
_Amaranthe - Afterlife_

* * *

 

**~ Another day in paradise ~**

"Next stop deck 1," the synthetic female sounding voice that had introduced herself as Enhanced Defense Intelligence - or EDI - said, as I entered the elevator.

It was the last station of my round trip, all guided by the – so far – friendly little elf Cerberus had installed on the ship. Its voice emanated from a blue sphere hovering above the elevator's console. Although completely unnecessary, the orb's presence provided us mere humans with a focus to address our needs. And with a feeling of privacy, as soon as it vanished. Which was of course merely an illusion, as EDI had informed me so kindly.

However, the out-fleshed AI with the disturbing penchant for voyeurism wasn't the only surprise Cerberus' engineers had in stash. I perfectly understood Joker's enthusiasm now. The first Normandy had already been an exceptional vessel, a unique prototype of a frigate outfitted with best technology the Alliance had and the turians had been willing to share, and this new ship still topped her.

The extent of the Illusive Man's intel and resources was plain alarming.

As was his skill at sniffing out my weaknesses - Joker wasn't the only familiar face in the crew. Dr. Chakwas had also left the most honorable Alliance Service behind to join a group of extremists with more than doubtful intentions. Still, whatever Cerberus' base motives, I was glad on some selfish level to have someone aboard who had stitched me together so many times that we had actually stopped making jokes about it.

The doors of the elevator opened.

"Here we are," the AI spoke up. "Commander, these are _your_ quarters."

EDI sounded genuinely pleased, which made me halt in my tracks and squint at the sphere floating now above the console next to the door.

"Thanks for the tour, EDI, much appreciated," I said carefully and inclined my head towards the orb, hoping my gesture emanated the very image of cordial and respectful harmlessness, as intended. Better to cross all your t's and dot all your i's. Maybe that was just my paranoia talking, but the AI's _I_ encountered so far had all unanimously tried to load me into the next shuttle to the afterworld; be it geth, giant robo squids from outer space or thieving terminals with a serious attention deficit. And this AI was easily one of the most developed and self-aware I ever met.

I stepped into the cabin and was clobbered over the head with decadence.

The room was much bigger than what I was used to from the old Normandy and… – be still my heart – had _real_ furniture. Back on the SR-1 my lackluster cubbyhole had featured just a hard cot, five guns, six miles of exposed pipes and cable harness, two dozen crates of equipment - half of them Tali's pilferage - and a "desk" that had radiated the about the same charming reliability as an aluminum camping table bolted to the wall. It also came with the most uncomfortable chairs the Alliance procurement could have possibly found.

And now this: not one desk, but _two_ (andnone a cheap makeshift), a poshy leather couch with matching armchairs and a real bed. Kingsize. I walked down the few stairs and sat on the edge of the mattress. I jumped a little and it gave way invitingly. Oh boy. The criminally soft bed sheets short-circuited something in my brain and I fell backwards into the white cotton. My limbs instantly betrayed me and quitted their service. A low, happy groan escaped from my chest before I could stop it.

Yep that's me, helplessly outsmarted by my most primal cravings.

The spine protector of my armor poked into my back. I forced some life into my gummy muscles and rolled to the side, frowning at a glass wall across the room. Was this… a _fish tank_? On a space ship? Seriously, what the hell was wrong with these Cerberus people?

With a shake of my head I fished the raided gun from the holster on my waist and started popping the heatsink in and out. The sooner the motion would stick to my memory the better. Getting your head blown off because you were distracted by fumbling for latches on your gear was just too embarrassing for someone in my line of profession.

My repeated motions filled the silence of the cabin with soft clicks. The gun was indeed a standard ERCS pistol, except that the turian manufacturer called the model line "Predator" these days. Figures. I've never met a turian who didn't just lo-ove to harp on that analogy every once in a while. My thoughts drifted off and I inevitably wondered what Garrus was up to. It worried me that not even Cerberus had managed to fret out anything about the C-Sec officer's whereabouts. As for the others… Truth to tell, when I had seen Joker and the Normandy, a part of me had irrationally believed for a moment that Cerberus had recruited more of my former team. Believed and rejoiced. Damn. It had been a good crew. All thirty-five members of it. Never thought I would say it but right now I even missed Kaidan - despite that he was clinging since over ten years to his mission to irritate the hell out of me.

"The Illusive Man was aware of your lack of personal belongings." EDI suddenly started and pulled me out from my musings. Yup, no concept of privacy whatsoever. "There is a choice of clothing and other necessities in the closet. Feel free to see them as your own. Also as the commanding officer of this vessel you're entitled for regular pay, due on every 1st and 15th of the month, Earth time."

Once again the AI gave off the impression of personal pride at being able to help me out. This was just… creepy.

I stretched with a yawn and got up, deflecting all attempts of my body to convince me otherwise. I shuffled to the wardrobe and peeped inside, beware of any further color disasters. To my relief there were just standard crew uniforms with some additional shirts, sweat pants and jackets. All in safe black, white or grey. I pulled out the drawer, expecting equally standardized and dead-ugly white body linen. Ugh. Except… there was an armada of classy bras and panties, all in exquisite quality. I should know; a small fortune had constantly flowed from me to Elysium's Exclusive Bodywear…

Vigorously, I forced the drawer shut again. Just what I needed - another confirmation that probably hosts of perverted Cerberus geeks had snooped through my bank accounts, personal communication, extranet movements and shore-leave pictures; "analyzing" data for the sake of my psychological profile. On top of it, the ridiculous image of the Illusive Man rummaging through my underwear kept penetrating my mind, and suddenly I had to fight down a fit of hysterical giggles.

"Are you feeling well, Commander?"

No. "Yeah. I think I need a shower."

"The door left to the entry. Logging you out."

I watched the blue sphere disappear. Finally left to my own devises – or rather the _illusion_ of it – I discarded my armor and the spandex to the floor and dove for the shower as single-minded as a bulimic at buffet's opening. Dried remains of suspicious regeneration fluids were smeared all over my body, and to make it worse – 'cause naturally there was always a way to ensure things got there – the cheap sweats had colonized on me in pink patches of clogged lints.

A look in the bathroom's mirror also revealed why the Doc earlier had virtually itched to drag me into the Med Bay, as soon as I'd finished my little speech for the crew. So far, I had been just too busy to notice, but my face was a mess. Thin, red welts were criss-crossing my cheeks and forehead. Somehow they reminded me of that guy from this ass-old and ultra trashy horror flick, Joker referred to as "classics". With a hammer and a few nails... I peered at the blemished, too symmetrical, skin more closely.

 _Terrific. Patched up with snippets of skin grown from a Petri dish_.

No wonder I felt like Frankenstein's Monster.

My gaze fell on the small ensemble of jars and flasks standing next to the sink. A note was tucked between them. It read:

' _I brought you some treatment for your facial wounds. Keep it up regular and they won't scar._

_Karin'_

She had underlined regular twice and put an exclamation mark behind it. I gave the vicious ointments and fluids the evil eye.

Exfoliate. Rinse. Tone. Dry off. Moisturize. Repeat.

The words barked through my head like an obsessive-compulsive boot camp drill. Again I looked at my face, imagining life with a permanent facial chessboard. Fucktardilicious.

Demoralized, I inspected the rest of my body. Underneath all the pink leprosy, my skin glowed at me like a butt that hadn't seen the sun in a decade. A few liver spots, none of them in places where _I_ remembered them, seemed to be the only disruptors of the aristocratic complexion. No injuries, no marks… and I meant 'no' as in 'nothing'. Nada. Zip.

I brushed over my stomach. The ugly scar from Feros was gone; as was the one from New York, and all the other silent witnesses of my life's journey. Quickly, I turned to look at my back. Where I was used to see swirls of black ink covering my shoulder blades down to the small of my back, nothing but unmarred skin displeased my eyes. I grimaced at the woman in the mirror. Screw me. I had really loved the tattoo.

I flipped the shower on and, waiting for the water to heat, I combed through my clotted hair with my fingers. It was shorter than usual, barely touching my shoulders. Plus, as another courtesy of Lazarus, its honey-colored strands had also paled into an undefined tangle. Sighing I stepped under the balmy spray. Vanity just had to wait its turn.

As I scrubbed my skin, I realized something else. I had thinned. Noticeably. True, I had never been particularly heavy framed to begin with, but over ten years serving in the military had provided me with strong muscles. Now, my waist was almost as slim as on the day I entered the Alliance, and as a kid of the street, regular meals had been more of a rare exception than a rule. However, while fighting and shooting around on the lab or Freedom's Progress I had never felt weakened for a second; quite the opposite, to be honest…

… and this was exactly the unpleasant moment my mind stopped believing the little comforting lie I've been telling myself. Nobody was raised from the death with merely a few candles, a handful of herbs and a prayer. No-fucking-body.

I struggled to contain this specific line of thought. It was in vain. Empowered by a morbid sense of curiosity it drove me on until the silent dread that had been lurking just beneath the surface reached out and clasped me by the throat. Lawson's closed-mouthness. The quite-not-right look of everything. That you simply could NOT cheat death, for god's sake…

Despite the hot water running down my back, I shivered.

I was a stranger in my own body.

* * *

  **~V~**

* * *

 

Obscured by shadows, I sneaked up on my quarry.

I ghosted through a dim alley not far away from the back entry of one of Omega's sleazy clubs. It smelled of old garbage, ass and the heavy sweet-smoky perfume of the working girl that had left the club a few minutes ago with a client. They hadn't cared two shits about the batarian a few yards ahead of me or the now motionless blue figure to his feet. Regrettable, but the asari had already been dead for a while when I arrived. Centuries of life, of experiences, simply snuffed out. What a waste.

He discarded the purse he had been rummaging through to stick a pipe between his lips. Only then did he reach down and pulled up his pants. Oh yes, dealing with his rotten sort without blowing their filthy brains out was one of the hardest challenges in my line of business.

The flash of a lighter illumined his face and he eagerly sucked in the burning crystal, two pairs of hollow eyes revealing the advanced state of his addiction. In the last months the human-made drug had been shipped to Omega in vast numbers. Three-times cheaper than Red Sand and without the biotic-afflicting qualities most designer drugs had, it spread almost as rapidly as the disease infesting Gozu District. I needed to make my move or he would be too far gone to be of any use.

Now.

Four steps and into the light.

"Hello Kervol," I pressed the barrel to his temple, releasing the gun's safety with a soft click. "I think you owe me a life."

His mouth went slack and the pipe dropped to the ground. This close the sour smell of unwashed body mixed with the rancid stench of the oil most batarians smeared on their leathery skins was almost unbearable. It was good that Vortash stayed away from this habit… _had_ stayed. For a short moment Kervol's face flickered into my batarian procurement specialist's. Damn. I needed sleep.

"A-arch-an-g-gel? B-but you promised to let me go!"

"A promise? No, Kervol, a trade. The information who paid off Sidonis against your hide. Can you imagine my surprise when I found Tarak's head of security with a dozen of his thugs in waiting instead of a renegade Eclipse girl on the run back to Thessia?"

"They said, you wouldn't come back… ughh!"

My left hand darted forward and clutched his throat.

"Kervol, Kervol. I was born at night, but it wasn't _last_ night. Have you really believed I wouldn't double check? That I would rely on your words alone?"

I shoved him back until his back touched the wall. My eyes drilled into the topmost pair of his; impassive black marbles in a dark green face. And still the predator in me could sense fear.

"Listen, so far I've been really patient with you; so much more than you deserve. Let's try this one more time: Who. Bought. Sidonis."

With each word I pressed my gun a little tighter against his head.

"Well?"

"I…" he started stammering, eyes darting around wildly to search for a way out. There was none. "I do-n't kn-now! There was just this m-merc. Eclipse. A woman, tall. Human or asari. Cut a d-deal with Tarak to get you. She p-paid me well and… please, I… c-couldn't see her face. I… didn't ask…"

I wanted to leash out in pure frustration. A dead end. Again. How could someone like Sidonis vanish from this blasted meteor without leaving any trace? This was impossible, even if he paid someone to cover up his tracks. A gurgling sound caught my attention and I felt fingers clawing at my hand. _Ah, yes_ … I unclenched the grip I had on Kervol's throat.

"P-please… It's all I know…" Four eyes widened and his voice obtained a panicked edge, which I refused to acknowledge.

Useless. Why was I not surprised? The batarian saw something in my face that forced his heart into a staccato of wild drums. My right hand holding the gun trembled slightly.

 _Yes, yes, kill him!_ A female, turian voice whispered. _He isn't worth the air he's wasting!_

I turned my head slightly, almost expecting Mierin to watch me from what would have been her preferred spot here, a narrow ladder leading up to the roof. There was nothing but shadows. The voice had been in my head.

"Well, isn't it ironic?" I asked and forced my focus back to the repulsive creature in front of me. "You'll die with the same terror you've been just dishing out so generously. Justice, wouldn't you say?"

 _Damn it, Garrus, are you mad?_ A second woman suddenly spoke up. This time I didn't even bother with looking for a source. The voice was just as familiar. And no less dead. _That's no justice, that's a friggin' execution!_

Perhaps, but these were subtleties reserved for people who could actually afford them.

 _Garrus, do it for me…_ The first voice picked up again. _You promised to make me smile…_

Yes, I had. On the very day we freed her from the cellar of a slaver, staring defiantly at our small army of four avengers. Body abused, spirit unbroken. I also promised to see her strong, that she never had to endure helplessness again – and we knew how well that had ended.

_Vakarian, will you stop with this bullshit, for fuck's sake? You're better than that._

Was I? Perhaps I once really had been that man but he had been grinded to dust by the merciless battles that tore Omega apart from the inside out.

_Come one, Archangel… I know you want it. Let's take his sorry life… Use him and send a message to Tarak and to all our enemies… Can't you feel it? Revenge. So pure, so sweet…_

_Revenge?_ The second voice spat out in scorn. _Hah! Revenge will never fill up the horrible emptiness you feel inside…_

I tilted my head and listened to them arguing back and forth. Slowly, the realization dawned on me that I was tethering on the edge of madness.

 _LEAVE ME!_ I ordered in a last attempt to keep my sanity from getting chased to hell by dead women bitching at me in my head. It had the same effect as shouting at a black hole.

Suddenly, the foul stench of Kervol's increasing fear pierced through my distracted state and insulted my nostrils. Had I said the last aloud? I didn't matter. "Any last words before you face your creator? Make an effort, perhaps he'll have mercy with you…"

At that, the batarian struggled even harder. My grip on his throat tightened again. He stood no chance. His flesh was weak and I was filled with a dark and hungry need to avenge that fueled me with strength way above my limits.

_You're the worst fucking idiot this universe has ever seen! Haven't you learned anything at all?_

Oh, I'd learned much. Especially, that the galaxy was a cold and cruel place, infested with evil. This lesson had been particularly explicit.

_Garrus. We lost our lives to this mission… If you won't revenge us, who else would? Who else would even care?_

Mierin was right. I was the only one left. My burden, my obligation. Abandoning them had never been option; that remnant of honor neither Omega nor death had managed to obliterate.

I locked eyes with Kervol, whose drugged mind had already shut down in acceptance of the inevitable. My mother had always advanced the view that every soul deserved redemption in the end. Since I came to Omega I knew she was wrong.

_Fool._

_I'm sorry, Shepard…_

I pulled the trigger, accompanied by Mierin's wild laughter.

* * *

  **~V~**

* * *

 

Omega.

For some, the pit of doom that would swallow first their consciences, and then their souls without hesitation; for others a writhing succubus that made even the wildest of their dark little fantasies come true. For me it was nothing but a filthy heap, marching along with the false front of a painted slut. If I had my way that cursed rock would have seen my lily-white ass for the last time eight years ago – ten, if you counted my recent absence in – but as usual…

Straight after Freedom's Progress, the Illusive Man sent over five dossiers on possible squad members; three of them on Omega. And just like that I'd won another day in sinner's paradise.

I was so freaking lucky, I could have shot myself in the kneecap.

Trailing after Lawson and Taylor, I stepped out of the airlock and into the streets. And even after all those years an all too familiar feeling slithered across my subconsciousness like a living thing. A constant trace of danger permeated the air and my body tensed. Alertness and adrenaline tingled through me. My awareness extended. Instinctively my body was readying me for combat, making me walk the thin line between loosing yourself to the thrill and tasting your own fear. Only maniacs went into a fight without being afraid. The trick was to use that fear like you would use a honing stone; to let it slide against your senses, sharpening them until you became one with the ground below, the air around and the enemy in front.

Fractured memories welled up; of my last visit, when I felt Omega's mesmerizing pulse for the first time. It was shortly after I was promoted to the N4 unit. Normally, the Alliance knew better than to poke around in the Terminus Systems, except…

 _I moved through the masses of shifting bodies like a ghost, following Fletcher_. _People's gaze bent around me; my nondescript appearance already forgotten as soon as I stepped out of their line of view. This was exactly why Commander Ripley sent me. Because I knew this place although I've never been here. A dark place, full of traps and pitfalls; balancing on blade's edge. Omega's dangers swirled around me like snowflakes in a storm, and it was like coming home._

That job hadn't been about standard procedures. In fact, I doubted one word ever made into an official report. No, it simply was about a very personal favor for the Fleet Admiral and the very dead body of his daughter…

_I stepped behind Fletcher into a dark alley. He whirled around, a frown twisting his otherwise handsome face. Long brown curls, midsized built; the perfect image of the nice guy next door. But we already knew that appearances were treacherous, right? I inhaled and a little smile crept into my face. This place…_

… was evil. It was destined to bring out the worst in people. Especially in me…

 _The cold steel of my gun kissed his temple and still he considered a break for the mouth of the alley. I shook my head and applied more pressure with my forearm, slowly crushing his windpipe; all words said. It was only then, that he_ truly _looked at me. His eyes widened and he froze like prey, finally spotting the looming predator behind._

_Fletcher had discovered something in my gaze. Something that had awakened with my arrival; when I first sensed the familiar mood of this place._

_He had found Ivy, and she made him tremble with fear._

_I perfectly understood. She made me, too..._

"Shepard, what's your plan now? How do we proceed?" Lawson's question pulled me back to the present of Omega's streets, and away from my memories. I took another moment to listen to the depths of myself. Nothing stirred. Good.

I took a deep breath - which was a mistake. Immediately, the faint stench of incinerated flesh assaulted my sinuses. Lovely. Of course we had heard of the strange disease infesting the nearby district, but burning the corpses? On a space station floating about in the middle of nowhere? Are you kidding me?

"We should go after that Archangel guy first." Taylor offered.

I nodded, trying to ignore the implications my mind drew at the smell of burnt flesh around me. Since waking my metabolism ran havoc. I was _always_ hungry.

"Agreed. He's probably the one with the most time critical agenda," I said slowly, because my eyes spotted a greasy, dirty food stand maintained by an equally greasy, dirty man, wearing an even more obnoxious apron. Why he bothered with it at all was beyond me; the thing was so filthy it would probably bend and stand on its own. Caught in an almost ghoulish motion sequence, he pushed little skewers of shish kebab back and forth on the grill. Yum-yum, ventkill. I looked away. I was not _that_ desperate.

Lawson's omni-tool flashed to life. "We don't know his exact location. The increased mercenary activity around the southern warehouse area at Kima District might be a clue, but without further information, we can search this maze for days and still come up empty-handed. I have some contacts here, I'd advise to approach them and…"

I edged a few more steps away from the germ-infested food stand, and pinched the bridge of my nose, thinking. All of that delicate poking around would take too long. We needed information. Fast. "Aria T'Loak. She will know."

Taylor gave me a long, suffering look. "That's risky, Commander, the woman's as unpredictable as they come."

It earned him an evil glare from my XO, which he deflected with an expression so obviously blank, I was surprised she didn't hit him over the head with her SMG.

I shrugged. "Why not? Let's march up to her and see if we can't shake a few answers loose. It's worth the try; we're running out of time, anyway."

Plus, I really didn't fancy to end racing up and down Kima District, grabbing random people by the collar, shouting 'Are you Archangel?'

"What? That's your plan? This is no plan at all!" the dark haired woman piped up in alarm.

It was actually a 'make sure to get yourself killed in a hurry' kind of plan, but yeah. Far was it from me to argue about semantics with Officer Fussiness.

"You know what? I find your lack of faith disturbing." I told her. "Isn't this exactly why you brought me back?"

I thought she groaned faintly, but I already headed towards the entry of Afterlife.

**.~'*'~.**

Finding the self-proclaimed Queen of Omega in the club was easy. Getting through to her not so.

"Commander Shepard. I want to see Aria." I said to the guard blocking the stairway.

"And I want a triple distilled single-malt, while getting my dick sucked..." The turian stated bitingly, then looked around in faked surprise and spread his hands. "Look at that, seems we both gonna miss out today."

I rolled my eyes. _Asshole_. "I'm sure if you tell her that Shepard, the _Spectre_ , is here, she can spare a few minutes. I'll keep it brief."

"Listen, human: I don't give a fuck if you're Queen of Palaven, Aria's new main squeeze or the next fucking Council Head. She has ordered not to be disturbed and that's it. Get lost!"

Really, this Spectre business wasn't worth two beans in a rotten bag. Turning my head, I tried to get some opinions from the Cerberus Gestapo. Taylor just shrugged at me while Lawson hacked commands into her omni-tool, either meticulously logging my shortcomings or playing Tetris. Perhaps both.

Yeah, some great help here. I focused back on the guard, who had apparently already dismissed me, in favor of bitching over the radio with some Jehara about the odds for a cage fight at Kenzo District tonight.

What now? Diplomacy had never been my strongest suit, but if I knocked Aria's hireling straight out I could - in the best case - wave goodbye to any cooperation from the asari. In the worst, I ended as a smear on the wall.

When unsure what to do next, start yelling until someone stops by and asks what all the noise is about. I raised my voice. "Wow, did you hear that? This guy," I pointed at the turian, "said, they'll stop serving any booze in the Afterlife!"

"Oh. My. Goodness! No liquor anymore?" Lawson suddenly shouted with a faked British accent towards the crowd. Definitely logging then. "Blimey, this is scan-da-lous!"

I grinned. In another life, the Cerberus agent would have made a great actress that was sure. At least a dozen patrons stopped in their sluggish dance floor shuffling to the umpteenth remix of some old Expel 10 song to watch our show. There were surprisingly many people and it was - what? - freaking 9 AM in the morning? Right. Only on Omega.

The guard's hard face had turned a little pale around the edges. Three fingered, talon-tipped hands grabbed for me, but I danced out of his reach, resuming with my rabble-rousing. "What are you saying? Adipose krogans instead of asari dancers?"

Uh-huh. _That_ did it. Within seconds the turian was caught in a desperate attempt for damage limitation, while surrounded by a mob of upset patrons, each of them battling for sonic supremacy.

"ENOUGH!" A deep female voice suddenly boomed from above. The crowd fell silent and dispersed. Whatever else they were, they were smart enough to avoid the ire of Omega's self-proclaimed ruler. "Grizz, what's the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry Aria. This impertinent human there," he pointed with an accusing expression on me, "caused it."

I flipped him off out of Aria's peripheral view, all the while beaming up to the asari with my most nonchalant smile. Never claimed to be the sharpest knife in the box. "Hello Aria, I'm Commander Shepard, do you got a minute?"

She leaned over the rail and gave me a look-over. "Shepard, hmm? That's a bold statement. _I_ heard she's very dead…"

"Really? Then tell me, all-knowing Queen of Omega, do you actually believe someone exists in the broad expanse of the universe, who's crackbrained enough to claim to be me?"

A snicker floated down from above. "Grizz, let her up! And the next time someone wants to see me, bring it to my attention _before_ they instigate another riot among the guests!"

"Of course, Aria." Reluctantly, Grizz, the under-sucked guard with the liquor deficiency, moved aside. I bestowed him with my best smile and his face soured even further. He even seemed to weight the consequences of Aria's wrath against the utterly – but really short-lived - satisfaction of hitting me with the butt end of his rifle. Oy. New friends every day.

I motioned towards the Cerberus agents to wait; then climbed the stairs. Shepard: one; Omega: zero.

"What do you want, Shepard, who just recently returned from afterlife to come to Afterlife?" the blue-skinned alien asked me smugly, when I reached the top of the stairs.

_Haha, very funny._

Keeping my face smooth, I sat down next to Her Haughtiness, who was throning it on her couch arrangement. Unperturbed, I ignored her bait - hey, I was not that stupid.

"Archangel."

With a mocking smile, Aria reclined in her seat.

"So does half of Omega. His petty game will be over by nightfall... I know what you aren't, _Spectre_ ," out of her mouth it sounded more like an insult. "No merc, no criminal. And still you seek one of our most wanted. Why? What are you to him? Diligent bounty hunter? Betrayed business partner? Scorned lover?"

The last was voiced with low seductive edge and she crossed her legs with an almost obscene deliberateness. I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Asari. One way or the other they were _all_ little blue sluts.

I fixed her with my Shepard-will-nuke-you glare. I had no time for playing 20 questions with the sexual deviant. "Neither. I just need him alive."

"Alive?" She raised what passed off as an eyebrow at me. "Why should I help you? Why should I even care?"

It was my turn to get smug. "Maybe, it's just because you don't necessarily want to see him dead? C'mon, Aria… I know if you really wanted it, he would already be rotting in some trash can..."

She laughed. It was a harsh, joyless affair, just like an interview session with al-Jilani. Don't let her colorful clothes fool you. "You're a player, Shepard. Courageous. I can… tolerate that for now. Just make sure you never forget the one and only rule: don't fuck with Aria!"

Her gaze drilled into my skull. I stared back unblinking. If she expected me to fall over from intimidation, she could settle in for a long long wait.

After another moment she seemed convinced that I had gotten the message and resumed, "Very well. In the beginning, he proved to be a convenient distraction. He fitted my plans, so I tolerated his business. His motivation though…" She made an off-handed gesture, loading her words with scorn. "Ludicrous. Nobody will turn Omega into a safe haven. Not now, not ever!"

"I see…" Part gunslinging Robin Hood, part strategically enhanced killer commando – I was so sold; lock, stock and barrel. _"_ Why's he a problem now?"

"He became a loose cannon. Blasted too many deals and too many important heads, so... The mercs are enraged; they even formed a temporary association to root him out." Her voice dropped to match Noveria's surface temperature. "He turned from a tool into a menace for my business, Shepard – and _this I won't_ tolerate…. but, there's still his former usefulness, so I will allow you to take him with you - if you find him alive…"

"Where's he?"

"The easiest way is to go through the Blue Suns' recruiting office downstairs. Tell them you're a freelancer and they'll bring you in. The rest is up to you."

"Thank you for your time, Aria." I nodded towards the asari and got up to go. Then I halted and turned around once more. "Can I ask you one last thing?"

"Knowledge is power and no one here has more intel than Aria. Speak."

_Blah-blah, aren't we pleased with ourselves?_

"I heard a rumor…"

"We don't do this show anymore. Even the batarians were grossed out. People are just too prudish these days."

I couldn't help my snort. "No, what I meant was, is it true that Omega had sightings of Collectors recently?"

The ageless face of the century old creature became thoughtful. Then suspicious. Oh-oh, not a good sign. "Why do you want to know?"

I shrugged. "Just some unholy human curiosity, I guess."

In a flash she was out of her seat and stood before me, head high; radiating power and awe like the evil pirate queen she so much loved to presume to be. Instinctively, I shifted my balance for a combat stance. Her eyes hardened even more, two violet crystals ready to rend flesh into pieces.

"You're pushing my patience, Alliance Navi Commander Ivy Shepard. You show up with a Cerberus ship on my station the same time as human Terminus colonies go silent. You search for unusual people; ask unusual questions. Have you thought this would escape my notice? So what if I tell you there had been an incidence two years ago. An incidence that involved not only Collectors but also the Shadow Broker's forces…" A cold and malicious smile twitched the corners of her lips. She leaned over and whispered in my ear, "And what if I tell you that your new Cerberus girlfriend down there had been present as well?"

 _Lawson?_ I mouthed in shock before I could stop myself. What business had _she_ with them? What was she hiding? All the uneasy trust I had struggled so hard for went up in flames. But the worst was, that a part of myself was actually smirking at been proven right. Cerberus could never be trusted.

Aria had drawn back and was watching me, obviously pleased with the H-bomb she had dropped onto my head.

"Enjoy your stay in my Sin City, Commander."

 


	4. New ghosts, old regrets

There is nothing above, there is nothing below  
Heaven and hell live in all of us  
And I've been cast astray

I am the ocean, I am the sea  
There is a world inside of me  
Lost in the abyss, drowned in the deep  
No set of lungs could salvage me  
Save yourself, save your breath  
The tides too strong, you'll catch your death  
So breathe for me, just breathe

If we make it through the night, if we make it out alive  
We'll have mercy and pray for the dead  
Are you saying that you can save me  
Don't hope to ever find me  
And I fear I'm too far gone

_Bring Me The Horizon - Crucify me_

* * *

**~ New ghosts, old regrets ~  
**

Patiently, I watched the edge of the overthrown desk from my vantage point.

It was a sniper's dream; the elevated gallery providing a perfect vista over the lobby of the large office that stretched out below me. A narrow bridge spanned over a deep gap, a remainder of Omega's past as huge eezo mine, connecting the actual office facilities with the building's main entry on the other side.

The building shared the fate of numerous other bureau complexes in this area - worn down and recently abandoned in haste. I had spotted it the day before the assault on my team and we immediately had started with moving our equipment here – which made it in hindsight the perfect moment for our enemies to strike.

The location's existence was a lucky coincidence owned to the many subversive undercurrents that surged through Omega these days and disrupted regular business almost completely. Some even whispered Aria's iron hold was waning, that she was growing soft with age, but I suspected the cunning blue alien was rather pursuing an agenda that would simply see its effects not before the majority of Omega's citizens had long since turned to dust…

_There._

As expected, my endurance was eventually rewarded. A pale-skinned, misshaped figure crept into the view of my scope; its nightmarish features twisted into a constant feral snarl that exposed too many long pointed teeth. I held my breath.

_Focus!_

My finger slid along the trigger. A short but fervent prayer to the gods of abrasion that the blasted piece of metal wouldn't jam on me again. I freed my mind and the world shrunk back, until there was nothing left to disturb my concentration. The calm before the kill. The only moments of peace I had these days.

_Release._

The bullet hit the forehead dead center and exited on the back in a spray of red. With barely a sound the last vorcha of a pack of five dropped to join his brethren already fallen. At least they died quick. It was all the mercy I had to give.

I exhaled; slowly, controlled and ducked back into cover; just as slowly and controlled.

It was a sham. In truth I was utterly exhausted.

After the incidence with Kervol, things had gotten… messy. I tracked down rumor after rumor until I finally circled back to the Blue Suns' head of security. At least, he admitted before his end that Eclipse made a deal with Sidonis. Tarak, the leader of the Blue Suns here on Omega, was foaming at his ugly mouth and send some of his people after me. Getting rid of them bought me time and I poked deeper; Eclipse mercs fell, but still no trace of the traitor. And the bounty, their leader Jaroth, had put out on my head after I killed his brother, boosted to a new record. Suddenly I had not only the Blue Suns and Eclipse hot on my heels, but also Garm with his imbeciles of the Blood Pack - and probably the bulk of this cursed asteroid's soldiers of fortune. Or rather misfortune.

In less than the course of one orbit I had turned from hunter to Omega's most hunted – an achievement I'm not exactly proud of.

I had just retreated to the would-be base here at Kima District a few hours ago, planted a few mines, sealed off the doors, blocked the remaining passages - the usual precautions - and barely made it back to my sniping spot when the mercs had launched their first attack.

I was on the run for days now, and the constant chase and the fights were reaping their tribute without mercy. Despite the abundance of stims pumping through my veins, a crushing weariness had seeped so deeply into my bones I couldn't even remember how it felt _not_ to be spent to the limits. Bit by bit it gnawed away my resolve and with it my will to get out of this hell alive. Kind of hard to fight on if there was actually nothing left worth the trouble, wasn't it?

At least I _thought_ it had been days. My sense of time had become fuzzy; day and night all running together into one blurry haze. The last time I slept, really slept, was probably the night before the attack, the night I was with Monteague and Grundan Krul on that roof top philosophizing about the day Omega wouldn't need our service anymore. The night when Mierin…

My concentration wavered, causing my mind to drift. I regretted it instantly. Grey eyes, glazed and lifeless stared at me; about to send me down another guilt trip I couldn't afford. My lids flashed open again. At least her ghost made sure that I wouldn't nod off with the next attack underway. Or ever again.

In the back of my mind I could hear Mierin's soft snicker. I cocked my head and waited. Usually, one voice drew out the other in short order - and my pathetic self was craving for it.

_Brought yourself in quite a situation, huh Vakarian?_

"You've no idea," I mumbled, absently fishing for my last RTU injector. The stims kicked in almost instantly and forced the weariness to retreat. Not much but enough. My heart sped up and dulled senses sharpened. Once more the stench of death bit my nostrils, blurred shadows cleared and muffled sounds became distinct. My skin itched inside my armor, each touch a dozen times more intense. I welcomed every bit of it.

Pushing myself deeper into the stim-induced hyperawareness it was almost as if… yes… If I didn't turn around… finally a long-forgotten calm washed over me and I believed my mind that I could _feel_ them. Their familiar presence, standing, right behind my back. They weren't just voices in my head. They were here with me. Fighting with me. Dying with me.

Just as long as I didn't turn around.

Spirits. I had lost my mind and welcomed it with open arms.

Suddenly a low booming sounded from the other end of the bridge. Its frequency increased to a steady pulse, then died as abrupt as it had started. I peaked over the rim of my cover and zoomed in with my scope but couldn't see nil.

_What's now on your devious mind, Tarak?_

I resumed watching the perimeter, glad for the interruption that brought my thoughts back to the matter at hand. Several dented cabinets had vomited their contents to the ground in a flood of paper. The pristine white littering the floor created a surreal contrast to the traces of death staining the room. Red spread out rapidly from the corner of a desk a few paces away from the mouth of the bridge. Despite its parched look, a vorcha's body contained a surprising amount of blood. Soon the puddle would merge with the greenish fluids dripping from an amphibian shape, doubled over an overturned locker. I turned my head away only to have my gaze fell on a bulky turian and the coral reef of grey speckled with lumps of blue that clung behind him to the wall.

I inhaled and the heavy metallic scent that permeated the air was almost palpable. Whatever they tell you at boot camp, there is nothing glorious about a battlefield after the fighting had been done. Just suffering and the foul stench of death.

I leaned against the pillar to my left and put down my helmet to rub my burning eyes with the heel of my hand. The stims had bought me another few precious hours of faked energy but then what? How much longer could I keep this up? How much longer before I simply fell over from exhaustion?

_You have to hold on. Until you draw them out... Or do you want Tarak and Jaroth to get away unscathed?_

Somewhere, the thought actually stirred up a spark of anger that put at least some spirit back in me. It couldn't overrule the increasing desperation, though.

The nature of this siege had changed. It had lost the feel of random skirmishes with their - however short-lived – victories and evolved into a direct reflection of the battle that had been raging between me and the leaders of Omega's biggest mercenary fractions for months – consuming, arduous and ultimately futile. After losing vanguard after vanguard to the disadvantageous location with the bridge as the only way in, someone, most likely Jaroth, had decided to save their troops and send in the freelancers. Well, if there was one thing always to rely on, then it was the notorious greed of most people in general and mercs in particular; and we lived in a world where every badly equipped thug with a gun and the slightest inkling about how to pull a trigger called himself merc.

Good for me in theory, in practice though…

As it turned out, 30 yards with no real cover and a sniper waiting in the weeds could be a very convincing argument to stay put – for those who possessed at least moderate intelligence, that is. I had watched how Nyreen Kandros arrived at the drop zone with five of her Talons in tow. After one look at the perimeter, she had turned and marched straight back, all the while laughing her cute little ass off. As had every other halfway serious mercenary group who had seen this perfect death trap for everyone who dared to cross.

Which regretfully worked in _both_ directions. I was just as pinned down on my side of the bridge; unable to move, unable to hide; forced to waste my resources and my strength on fools who just rushed in blindly to catch bullets, while the real enemy sat idly behind the lines, watching my slow defeat edging closer with each heatsink I used up, with each time I had to force myself onwards to aim and pull the trigger.

_Checkmate, Vakarian._

With a sense of finality the words pierced through the haze I was dragging myself through and I admitted what had lain hidden in the back of my mind all along: there was only one resort out of the snare I had laid for myself.

The Last Resort.

I looked down and at the pistol in my hand I didn't remember drawing.

Redeemer.

What a tantalizing thought.

I raised the gun to my head.

In front of my inner eye I imagined standing over Sidonis' body. I tried to feel the satisfaction; his brains blown out, my friends avenged. It wasn't working. All it did was making me furious.

So I thought of my team. Of the months we had spent together, living and fighting side by side. Of the things we had accomplished. Of the things we _could_ have accomplished, if not for the betrayal. If not for me pushing us beyond all boundaries.

I thought of Mierin and what an idiot I had been for rejecting her time and again. Too self-absorbed, too engrossed in my personal crusade against all evil, and eventually too afraid of the vulnerability she might or might not have been to me.

I thought of the time I spent on the Normandy and with Shepard. Of how ultimately it had been her words that opened my eyes to this other world; this grey world. Of Tali and Liara, and that we never had the chance to make good on the promise to meet again.

I thought of my family back on Palaven and how I refused to answer my sister's messages and calls since coming to Omega. Of the last time I saw my father and that we again had parted in anger. Of my mother and the creeping sickness, she thought she had hidden so well from us.

I thought of all the missed chances and wrong decisions on the way that led me eventually to this desperate last stand on Omega, and guess what? I looked back and all that was left were regrets.

I closed my eyes.

**.~'*'~.**

Shouts.

Pounding against my consciousness. Shouts and gunfire.

Lids snapping open, I uttered a stream of curses.

Was dying in peace really too much to ask for?

I holstered the Redeemer, shoved a fresh heatsink into my sniper rifle and pushed away from the pillar I've been hiding behind. A quick disposal with my Mantis and then…

A team of five human freelancers had made it over the bridge and started to bunk down in midst of the debris field made of office furniture; a well trained male, a short figure in black armor and a slim female in a ludicrous tight white suit. They had vanished behind cover too quick to get a closer look, but the other two were still running along. The first was a merc with a collection of bad-ass knives (impressive – had he been hunting lizards in the Grassy Plains) strapped over a battered Devlon breastplate, and a pale little man in green camouflage with facial hair colored like fire. Both were shooting around wildly, their bullets not even remotely near my position. It was mind-staggering. Where did Tarak pick these morons up?

I aimed at Red-Head, fired… and missed. With a shout that was more a yelp, he skittered behind a cabinet and out of my firing line. I clicked my tongue in vexation. Then I saw Knife leaning out from his cover; his shots this time precise enough to make me duck and move to the left. And then I realized there were just _two_ people shooting.

I risked another glance and saw how Knife and Red-Head started to levitate from their covers.

_What the…_

Pop, pop. Red bloomed on their foreheads; thin rivulets like macabre clan markings bisecting their faces. Covered in blue lightning, the woman with the white suit made a waving gesture and the bodies smashed into the next row of cabinets.

That was… unexpected. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and I was suddenly way too intrigued by the maneuver down there to shove the gun into my mouth and pull the trigger.

Angry shouts drew my attention to the other side of the lobby and the mercs' drop zone. Some spectator had finally discovered that those freelancers were not playing by tge rules and was alarming the rest of the crew. Immediately the team reacted and fanned out evenly, their steady movements a strong indicator that _their_ combat training didn't stem solely from watching Bullet Train.

From the corner of my eye I saw how the black armored freelancer vaulted over a desk and retreated below the gallery out of my line of sight. Something about the merc's movements tickled my memory but...

I shook my head. My condition must have been even worse than I thought. I paused. There was a familiar logo on the man's and the woman's gear; I knew I had seen it before; but where? It took me some time to wade through the clouded depths of my mind, but eventually I found the rotten answer. Cerberus.

"Sonovabitch!" I murmured, "you're right. There is indeed _always_ a way how things could get worse."

Unfortunately, the other mercs chose just this moment to launch another sortie. This time Blue Suns troopers, Eclipse vanguards and Blood Pack spilled out of the corridors and ran towards the bridge, eager to catch the renegades, who had already started their counter attack.

Archangel couldn't draw them out for hours, but Cerberus made it within moments. It was insulting.

I brought the scope to my eye and moved to my next target. The profile of a delicate female human face framed by a dark cap of hair jumped into my view. If I was quick I could take the Cerberus biotic out before the others knew what was happening and…

The woman shouted something to her squad and released a biotic blast against a krogan. She ducked and reloaded her SMG. The cross wires hovered over her forehead and my hand froze on the trigger. I couldn't do it. Perhaps I had been indifferent to my fate a few minutes ago, but now? Now the only thing I could think of was that those Cerberus mercs or whatever they were had placed themselves between me and my certain end. And regardless of their agenda, I was clinging to this chance for survival like a madman.

I was a blasted coward.

I put my helmet back on, fished a few more clips from my ammo bag and took position, aiming for the tank of a vorcha pyro. I ran my thumb across the small nick two inches above the trigger of my Mantis and couldn't help my grin.

Archangel might see another dawn after all.

**.~'*'~.**

Moments later, I heard my new and questionable allies approaching my position. I spared a quick glance to make sure it was them and not some overly lucky merc, then switched my concentration back to the attacking forces. Two of the Cerberus guys flanked me, holding the attacking forces easily at bay between their biotics and fire power.

"Archangel?" a voice suddenly said behind me and the world seemed to halt with a lurch and a deafening thunderclap. It was a voice, I knew… and which I'd never, _ever_ expected to hear this side of the grave again; let alone _outside_ of my crazed mind. I turned around, stunned.

"Now, are you Archangel, or did I just get myself on a damn lot of shit-lists for naught?" the human soldier in front of me wearing gear black as midnight repeated and crossed her arms below her chest, numerous fingers tapping impatiently.

Imagine this: it was her.

The very woman whose death I mourned two years ago, whose ghostly presence had been in my head so recently and made me question my sanity. Her deep green eyes flashed with this unmistakable blend of challenge and dare to defy and even the last of my doubts vanished. I would recognize this look even on a different face and… Her face… Welts were criss-crossing it, the angry red a stark contrast to the otherwise too pale complexion of her skin.

_What happened to you, my friend?_

I put down my helmet and cracked a smile despite the fact I felt like falling over any moment. How? True, I hadn't _seen_ her corpse but the footage of the crash site and Jeff's report…

"Garrus! What…" she said, eyes widening in astonishment.

"Hey, Shepard… you're alive..?" I heard a turian voice asking. He sounded troubled. Oh. It was me.

"Say, for now. It's a damn long story."

She reached out as if to shake my hand, then changed her mind and clasped her arms around me in a hearty embrace. Our armors connected with a soft clunk and I experienced a brief moment of hesitation. The Shepard _I_ remembered had always avoided physical proximity, while this one… I shoved all thoughts aside and put my arms around her shoulders to give her a quick hug; certainly she wanted to pull back any moment and… and for the second time in short order I was proven wrong.

"You're quite solid for a ghost," I mumbled when she made no attempts to let go of me; my chin just a few inches away from her temple. A faint fragrance of herbal soap and something I identified as her tickled my nose and I suddenly wondered if this was a hallucination after all. After hours of smelling nothing but death and blood it was like breathing in something I had completely forgotten about: hope.

"I know. I still have troubles believing it myself…" she whispered back with a chuckle and a last squeeze, then stepped away. "Archangel… Garrus Vakarian. This is just… damn," she said, while fidgeting with her hands as if she wanted to reach out again and check if I was real. I understood. I was struggling with the same urge.

"I take it, you already know each other?" the male Cerberus agent asked and stepped up to us, M-15 assault rifle still in hand. A quick look at the perimeter showed that the mercs had drawn back. To regroup and attack with full strength, no doubt. We had seconds, perhaps minutes of cease-fire at best.

"Yeah, you can definitely say that…" the fair-haired Spectre replied, while never ceasing to beam up at me. Then she looked at her companions and abruptly her mirth faded. "Garrus, these are XO Miranda Lawson and Officer Jacob Taylor. Miranda, Jacob; please meet Garrus Vakarian, member of my former team and the best sniper and flank guard I ever had the luck to fight with," she said and a mischievous glint entered her gaze before it was quickly smothered over again. "Without him we could have never stopped Saren or the Sovereign..."

"It's an honor," Jacob Taylor said, and I shook hands with them, yet underneath the thin layer of friendliness, I was alarmed. And decidedly worried. To my sincere regret, I simply couldn't fool myself any longer into ignoring the fact that my friend showed up with two Cerberus operatives in tow.

"We heard much of you, Officer Vakarian," Miranda Lawson said. "The Illusive Man will be pleased to learn of this development, Shepard."

I looked at my former Commander questioningly. What the hell was going on?

"If you'll excuse us for a second…" the human Spectre said to the other woman, then turned to me and nodded towards the rail of the gallery. I followed her and side by side we looked over the pandemonium of death and broken office furniture that spread below us.

"Illusive Man?" I asked quietly.

"A self-important prick. Runs Cerberus," she murmured and I stared at her in perplexity.

"This is a joke, right?"

"Unfortunately… no. I'd wish, though," she said and rubbed her face. All of a sudden, she appeared just as tired as I felt. "Okay, you first, Archangel… How did you get yourself into _your_ mess? This rock is crawling with rumors, one wilder than the next and back in there…" She gestured with her thumb to where the mercs had set up their camp. "They want to see you dead very badly…"

I snorted, sparing myself the effort of pointing out that she had once again evaded talking about _her_ issues. "Yeah, well, this hadn't played out exactly as planned…"

Shepard arched one of those fine hairlines at me – "brow," I thought they called it, her voice picking up agitation despite the hushed tone. "And that's why you decided to go to war with all mercs at once? Alone? Are you out of your friggin' mind? I almost believe you _want_ to get killed, for hell's sake!"

With a shrug I lifted my rifle to watch the drop zone once more. So much better than giving away how close she had come to hit the core. Or worse, having to look at her face and admit I screwed it up. Garrus Vakarian, goddamn hypocrite.

"I wasn't always alone, but… Things have changed, Shepard. Besides, what about you? Cerberus. Come on, seriously? You're definitely the last person I expected to be with them."

"I'm not with them, they're with me; which is something entirely different," she huffed unusual defiant and I put the Mantis down to regard her once more. The afflicted expression on her face spoke volumes. My hand clenched around the rifle. Now I really regretted that I hadn't pulled the trigger on the Cerberus woman.

_Exactly how deep have you waded in, Shepard?_

She sighed and stared at her hands. "Look, it's complicated. When…"

A sudden low rumble cut her off and we both spun away from the rail, weapons raised in one fluid motion. She nodded towards the two Cerberus operatives and they complied and spread out – just like a solid team should. And yet again I was sure Shepard's face had darkened as soon as her gaze fell upon them.

"What was this?" she asked. "An explosion?"

"The lower vaults." I said quickly. "Damn it! I feared they would eventually try to come through the maintenance area and get at me from behind."

"Can we stop them somehow?"

"Hardly. But the bulkheads are solid. They will need forever if they try to bomb their way through all of them."

Without warning the lamps above us started to sizzle. I looked up. The light flickered, once, twice and then we were cast in darkness.

**.~'*'~.**

The dim light of my omni-tool reflected on the close walls around us; providing just enough illumination to have a faint feel of oppression creep up on me - and the sweet odor of decay that wafted over from the passage to my right on top of the already staling air wasn't helping either. I pushed the unpleasant thoughts of suffocating in a maze of disabled air vents down and checked our direction at the intersection in front of me. Still east. Leading the way, I crawled straight on, combat knife in hand, my shoulders almost brushing the too close walls. The soft scraping of armor and boots echoed through the otherwise silent darkness.

Behind me, I heard Shepard suppress a sneeze, followed by a dull thump and a curse. Then she whispered, "Hey Vakarian, tell me once more: why are we here, although we've sworn never _ever_ to do airshafts again?"

I turned my head as good as I could in the confining space and answered in a hushed voice, "Only way to the lower vaults that won't have mercs immediately descending on us from two sides at once? Or do you think your little trick with the renegade YMIR will keep them off our backs forever? Relax, this isn't Peak 15. We'll have a hard time finding rachni in here."

"So _you_ say," she murmured. "I also remember you said 'C'mon, Shepard, it's just a harmless airshaft. What could possibly happen?'"

I signed. "You will never let me live that one down, will you?"

"I had toxic barf running down the insides of my armor and two dozen tentacles almost impaled me, so... No."

"Alright. Next drinks on me?"

"Deal." She chuckled softly. "Poor Liara, I think she almost fainted when we crawled out of that hole. That or shot us."

"Well, it certainly wasn't our best day..." I said, joining her mirth.

"… but our worst neither."

"Which is rather unsettling if you think about it for more than just two seconds…" I added and flexed my shoulder in a vain attempt to fight the cramps building up. My body was not meant to hunch down and crawl through narrow ducts. But, foot by foot we gained ground in the dark vent system that seemed to stretch endlessly into the belly of Kima District. I brushed a bead of sweat from my forehead. Either this was even more exertive than I thought or it was growing warmer in here.

"Hey, are you alright back there?" Shepard asked in louder voice.

"Yes." Taylor answered. "Two mines left." The dark skinned Cerberus operative was bringing up the rear and planted some surprises for anyone mad enough to follow us in here.

"Okay. Miranda, what about you? Miranda?"

"I'm fine." In contrast to Lawson's words, there was an unexpected nervous edge that did not quite fit with the cool aloofness she had displayed before.

"Perhaps you should tell…" Taylor started then got interrupted by the other Cerberus operative's hiss.

"Shht. This isn't the time, Jacob."

"Tell me what?" The Commander asked.

Taylor spoke up again, accompanied by the metallic clank of another mine adhered to the wall. "This is _exactly_ the time and if you don't tell, I will. Commander, Miranda's claustrophobic."

There were the times, when I seriously wondered why those things _always_ happened to us.

"This just gets better and better," I heard Shepard mumble. Then she added, "Will you manage?"

"There's not much choice, wouldn't you say?" Lawson replied with bitterness.

"It will be okay," the Commander said in this soothing tone of which I wasn't completely sure if I wouldn't tick the other woman off completely. "Close your eyes, breathe evenly and stop thinking about our surroundings. Just… imagine this as some indoor obstacle course..."

"I think there are lights ahead. Might be the exit." I said to the pitch-black darkness in front of me. Anything to keep a biotic from panicking and wreaking havoc in a 3 foot wide shaft just to get free.

"See? We're out in a blink."

"You don't need to mother me." Lawson rebuked her acidly. Though, she couldn't hide the increasing fear underneath.

"As you wish…" Shepard said, her voice suddenly flat. "Why don't you tell me instead about your date with some Collectors two years ago?"

This time it was my head that connected with the low ceiling. _Collectors?_ I probably misheard.

"What… How… Oh. I swear one day… What has this blue space pirate told you?"

"Does this really matter? How can I trust you if you keep lying to me?"

"Now? You really want to discuss this _now_?" Taylor muttered incredulously.

They ignored him. Not that I was suprised.

"I did _not_ lie! It just wasn't affecting our mission right then, so it didn't seem important to mention." Lawson argued back.

"Not important?" Shepard hissed. "We're searching for Collectors, speculate about their very existence and you thought it wasn't important to mention that you already dealt with them? Are you fucking kidding me?" Her voice cracked with the effort of keeping low.

Something, her fist probably, hit the wall and I flinched at the noise echoing through the narrow space. I couldn't remember seeing her ever that furious and the more I learned about this Cerberus connection the less I wanted to play nice. I gripped the hilt of my knife tighter, ready to throw it at the biotic at the faintest sheen of blue hitting my retina.

"I'm sorry, but it was not like you might believe," Lawson said, with something that almost bordered remorse. "The Shadow Broker made a deal with them and Cerberus was there to prevent it. The Collectors had send just one transactor and its features were concealed by a cloak all the time. It was killed by an incineration grenade before I even got a closer look at it! Shepard, you know I've no interest in harming you!"

"Do I? Frankly, there's an awful lot which isn't like it should be these days..." she said resigned; her anger dissipated as quickly as it had arisen. "You know, you make it damn hard for me not to kill the lot of you and take off with the ship…"

"Oh, you wouldn't dare…" Lawson began and I heard Shepard inhale sharply. Taylor cleared his throat and the dark haired woman resumed, "Please, it was never my intention to deceive you. We can talk more about this if we finally get out of this goddamn hole!"

"Ahem, sorry to interrupt you, but are we really talking about _those_ Collectors? Like in Collectors, the myth?" I asked in an attempt to divide their attention – all the good this clash would probably do was leaving four more corpses in the vents, anyway. "When have you planed to fill me in on it, Shepard?"

"Oh, I don't know, perhaps as soon as five dozen bloodthirsty mercs stopped screaming for our heads? So… congratulations. Vakarian; you're officially hired for the investigation of colonies abducted by creepy space insects," she said wryly.

"Ah… I guess there's no way for me to decline, friendly but strictly?"

"Nope."

"Well… it can hardly be worse than a rogue Spectre controlled by an ancient machine and shooting for galaxy's domination, I guess."

"Uh-huh. I so missed your optimism. Have I mentioned that we suspect them to be in league with the Reapers..."

I let out a long breath. "Of course, I hadn't _really_ assumed things would get any easier…"

A feral howl reverberated through the tunnel, followed by the unmistakable scratching of claws raking across metal. Many claws. Vorcha. Seems like they've found their madmen.

"Move! Taylor, arm the mines!" Shepard shouted.

"Negative! We're too close. We need to get out first or we'll be cooked in here!" Taylor replied over the noise.

I skittered around a corner. Ahead a beckoning patch of light emerged from the dark. Finally.

"There's the exit!" I exclaimed and crawled faster, ignoring the sharp tug that had taken hold of my left knee. I sheathed the knife and rammed my shoulder against the grille, once, twice; 240 pounds of determined turian in heavy armor pushing for all his worth. With my third push, Shepard plowed into me and the metal gave way with a creak. Caught in the momentum we tilted over and crushed to the ground two feet below; her elbow jabbing me hard in the stomach. I gasped for air, then blinked to adjust my vision to the sudden illumination. Lawson jumped out of the air vent, followed by Taylor who pushed the detonator. A series of explosions banged through the ducts. Instinctively, I grabbed for the Commander's arm and rolled to the side, pulling her along, just as a jet of heat shot out from the opening.

I craned my neck. We had reached the entry of the lower vaults. To the left the room opened to a high-ceiled storage hall, to the right it narrowed down and gave way to one of Omega's numerous life-sustaining maintenance areas, all sealable through massive bulkheads. The one I saw was forced open. We were behind the mercs' lines, for whatever good it would do, now that we made our unobtrusive entry. Someone stirred in my arms.

_What…?_

"You can let me go now," Shepard said in a low, amused voice that turned into a groan in the end.

I looked down and stared at the Commander's neck; my body half-way hunched over her back out of an utterly inept reflex to protect. Wherever it had came from, it made me feel like the worst kind of idiot. Embarrassed I released her and scrambled to my feet, twisting my left leg to pop the joint of my knee back into place rather painfully. Since the incidence on Therum it had never been the same.

Shouts suddenly arose in the distance; closing in swiftly. So much for stealth. I darted towards the console that controlled this part of the area, located on the opposite wall of the air vent we fell out. It was as good a chance as any, and the steady illumination that poured from the lamps overhead proved that at least the power was back online. Shepard, Lawson and Taylor manned both sides of the bulkhead and started shooting from the cover of the heavy iron frame.

"I think it's Jaroth with a team of techs and vanguards," Shepard exclaimed above bursts from Lawson's SMG.

"Right. Too much to hope for that he had stayed close to the sabotaged YMIR and got the first volley up his sneaky ass." I replied sourly and pushed in the codes to access the maintenance control. Nothing. Not even a little flash of one tiny LED.

I pushed away from the dead tech, drew my rifle… and the room behind me trembled with a deafening roar. My head whipped around. A flying beast of steel hovered above crates and racks at the other end of the hall, thundering closer.

It was Tarak. In a damn gunship. Even at the distance I could recognize how the batarian's face contorted into a mask of hate and malicious joy. He pulled the trigger and time froze.

I perfectly _saw_ how the missile raced towards me. I wanted to move, but my body wouldn't react. Desperately, I dove to the side but it wasn't enough. At first I felt nothing, but then… blinding agony exploded on my right side. I howled as every nerve ending in my body was consumed by fire. I dropped to the floor and couldn't even feel it.

Shepard.

An expression of horror was painted on her face and then she ran towards me. In my head I yelled at her to stay away; begged her to seek cover and save herself, but she still kept coming, as unstoppable as a force of nature.

_Always too stubborn for your own good…_

"Garrus!" she shouted, while sliding down to my side.

The world around me blurred as pain numbed my mind. Fuzzy haze replaced thought. I felt like moving and then the fair-haired Spectre reached out to grasp my head. Shouldn't I've felt her fingers on my face?

_Will you snipe one for me as well, little vixen?_

"Garrus? Garrus, stay with me, 'kay?" Her voiced sounded muffled, becoming distant, just as in a dream about to vanish. "Get you out in a min..."

A shadow moved at the edge of my vision. Creeping in. Reaching out with tendrils of black. Touching me. Was there laughter? Spirits!

I shivered. But why? I couldn't remember… Her eyes… so beautiful and widened with concern - _why are they concerned?_ They hovered above me like twin emerald ponds and suddenly I knew… I was going to die, drowning in them like in a bottomless sea. And perhaps… Perhaps there was something like redemption after all.

Darkness engulfed my mind.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

_No, no, oh, please, no…_ the denial was chanting in my head, as I tried to fix up the battered turian body somehow. I had pulled Garrus to the side and behind some cover provided by a support column, while bedlam surged against my mind in a flood of shouts and gunfire.

Hastily, I pulled off my gloves with my teeth and applied the medigel with both hands, hoping the human tailored fluid wouldn't trigger an anaphylactic shock that killed Garrus right on the spot. Blood. There was so much blood. It leaked through my fingers, completely unimpressed by my efforts to contain it. Within seconds my hands looked as if dipped in blue ink up to the wrists.

It had been just a graze, but the missile still had done its work. A huge portion of armor from the neck down to the chest had simply been ripped away, exposing the hardened silvery skin below to be scorched by the explosion. Pieces of chipped armor had been driven deeply, shredding the already seared flesh. And the face… At that point, I was almost glad about the blood obscuring the torn tissue.

I had seen people die from far less.

Frantically, I pressed the first-aid bandages onto the biggest injury, all the while pretending it wasn't my friend who lay in front of me torn to shreds. In combination with the medigel, the gauze clogged into a solid layer, adhering to the wound's fringes and slowing the gush of blood down to a trickle. Still, there was already such a big blue puddle pouring out from under him, mocking all my endeavors…

Shepard: one; Omega: one gazillion.

I was going to lose one of the few friends I had allowed myself to have. From the depths of my mind my mother's voice rose, reciting a piece of a conversation that had taken place a long, long time ago.

" _I told you so, Ivy, friends are a weakness. You start caring, and your enemies will be there to hurt them just to hurt you…"_

An unfamiliar oppression grabbed my chest like a gigantic fist. Feelings, I usually kept wrapped up and hidden in the deepest recesses of my mind, welled up until they became an almost unbearable pressure.

He was slipping away.

And it hurt. It hurt so badly, I didn't even know where all this pain was coming from. I desperately needed a release but my eyes stung with dryness. My throat constricted as if caught in a garrote, trapping the painful pressure inside me. All I could do was staring at the motionless form of my friend.

At the ever so slight heaves of his chest.

Like pulled on a cord, I snapped back to reality. If there was any chance at all… We needed to get him out. Fast. Only minutes had passed since Tarak's attack and Taylor and Lawson were still busy with fighting two fronts at once; the remainders of Jaroth's vanguards and the Blue Suns' leader in his gunship. I snatched up the Mattock assault rifle I had "borrowed" from the mercs' supplies, jumped to my feet and swirled around.

This batarian asshole would get a nice head-start on his way to burn in hell.


	5. The Darkness within all of us

Born of dust and stone  
Dead hearts, roaming a dying home  
Life leaves us all, white bones  
Upon the shores of time  
We are but sparks in a darkened world  
And yet some things were born to burn

The napalm in your eyes  
Is all my cold heart needs  
If you bring the matches  
I'll bring the gasoline

I'm the same bad news as you  
You're the same kind of fucked as me  
I'm the same bad news as you  
You're the same, you're the same as me

_Parkway Drive - Sparks_

* * *

 

**~ The Darkness within all of us ~  
**

Whisk-whisk. Whisk-whisk.

The soft swish of my track pants was the only sound disturbing the silence of the crew deck. I had tried everything to trick me into staying calm, but concern was rapidly eating away the mask of composure I always prided myself with upholding at all costs. For a thousandth time I glanced at the doors of the Med Bay and for another thousandth time, neither Dr. Chakwas nor Lawson emerged. I turned on my heels and paced back to the Mess' counter.

We had fought our way out of the warzone and returned to the ship as fast as possible – I thought the Doc almost had a heart attack when she realized who we tugged along more dead than alive. But to her credit, she recovered fast. The next instant she was shouting commands where the turian was to be placed and ordered a rather steamrolled Miranda into assisting her. For me was nothing to do – aside from being in the way, apparently - so I grabbed Taylor to meet with the other possible squad members. And frankly? I had needed the diversion dearly.

So I pulled Zaeed Massani, who was enjoying himself greatly, out of one of the countless bars - and shoved him right into the fetid pleasantness of a plague-stricken district to fetch the salarian professor. He stopped being amused then, and no assurance on my part that he would soon long for the good old times when burning corpses were his only inconvenience had succeeded in bringing his good mood back. Then again… The veteran merc looked as if someone had first assaulted his face with a buzz saw and then fixed the mess with staple gun. Maybe that feisty grimace was supposed to be a smile.

When I returned from Omega with Professor Mordin Solus and Zaeed, midday had faded into afternoon. The Professor had immediately closeted himself into the Normandy's Tech Lab, so delighted about his workstation and the insect-like bot we had found on Freedom's Progress that he jumped at it like a hyperactive duckling at a, well… beetle.

By now it was evening and I was still caught somewhere between hope and desperation, roaming the Crew Deck with a heavy lump in my chest. I was so caught up in my worries that at first I didn't register the whoosh of the door. Then Lawson shuffled past me. My eyes narrowed.

_That's right, I haven't forgotten about…_

My brain finally processed the information. She was out… I spun around and bumped right into Dr. Chakwas.

"Will he make it?" Help. The squeak in my voice was giving a rusty door hinge a run for its money.

The elderly woman patted my arm. "Yes – he has a strong will and is surprisingly well, considering the conditions, but it _was_ really close. If Cerberus hadn't equipped the Normandy with this high-end Med Bay…"

I closed my eyes, feeling sick. Cerberus again. Now I owed them two lives. Maybe it _was_ time for me make some concessions to even out my dues.

I would have rather eaten a handful of dirt.

"Can I see him?"

"He sleeps now and certainly needs no agitated commander who lures him into proving his strength," she said, while serving me a stern no-nonsense look. If she thought her glaring superpowers would manage to derail me today, she would be deeply disappointed.

I glanced over my shoulder at the Mess' counter. "Oh, look. Is that an unattended bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy?"

"What?" the Doc asked in bewilderment, but _did_ crane her head to see the galley. It was all the diversion I needed. Quickly, I dashed past her and through the door, locking it from the inside. I could virtually feel her glare, stabbing through the two inches of carbon fiber. Oh yeah, there would be words.

I sneaked deeper into the room. The sharp bite of antiseptics was omnipresent and almost strong enough to cover the heavy metallic scent of blood underneath. I made a beeline for the bed and sat down on the chair next to it. Caring as she was, the Doc had covered the turian up to his chest with one of her Martha Stuart from hell plaid blankets. His left arm rested on the hideous thing, an IV taped to the back of his too pale three-fingered hand, another to the crook of his arm. I grimaced in sympathy. Nasty little fuckers.

And then there was white. So much white. Lying on his back, Garrus seemed to drown in a sea of gauze; the bandages wrapped tightly around his head and his right shoulder; the few visible patches of skin ashen from blood loss.

 _Frankenstein's Monster and the Living Mummy – oh yeah, some great pair we made,_ I thought wryly, while watching his chest rise and fall in slow but even motions.

The big knot of worry in me eased and tension left me in a wash of relief. I sagged forward, elbows propping on my legs. He was alive. It was a freaking miracle, but he pulled this stunt off. From here we would wing it. Somehow.

"Dammit, Garrus," I said softly. "Are you out of your mind? You scared the crap out of us down there…"

 _You scared me_...

"I thought… I thought I'd lose you and after Ashley… Never believed I'd say it, but I might have gotten used to have you guys around…"

His hand twitched, thick claw-tipped fingers flexing slightly. My gaze skipped upwards, but he was still asleep. Perhaps it was because I knew he wasn't aware of my presence anyway. Maybe it was because dying had seriously damaged something in me. Whatever the case, I suddenly felt a strangely compelling need to resume my monologue and say,

"Honestly? I'm glad you're here, Garrus… Things are really really fucked-up this time and... you know, it feels good to have someone at my side I can trust. Someone who wouldn't mind crawling with me through another airshaft, up to our elbows in dead rachni…"

Silently, I stood up and brushed his arm.

"Alright then. Guess, I better go now; the Doc is already just one step shy from going ballistic. Please… Get well soon. The Normandy needs you. I…"

_I need…_

I stomped on the thought and turned to go. Not even in my head I could be completely honest with myself. Go figure.

"Shep… wait…"

A hoarse voice suddenly said and I halted in my tracks, feeling my face going white. Great. Just great. I got back to the chair and sat down.

"Hey…" I said, smiling bravely to gloss over my embarrassment and transmit reassuring confidence, as any good commander would and should. No need to give him any more of the unhinged maniac that had accidentally been brought back from the dead in my stead.

Garrus turned his head and blinking, he opened his eyes to watch me. There might have been the ghost of a smile on his face as well, but the bandages thoroughly screwed up even the few facial expressions, I could normally decipher out of the stony mask he called a face.

"Actually… I never said I wouldn't mind it…"

That's a turian smart-ass for you – mouthing off even while dancing on the brink of death.

"Uh-huh, but you don't mind catching Inferno rockets with your face? What is wrong with you?"

There was a snort, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and he said in this slightly throaty, disharmonic tone common to all turians, "Oh, don't fret, Shepard. It needs more than a stray missile to get rid of me."

My eyebrows shot up but he had already closed his lids again. Had he just don't-fretted me? Really? That was indeed a new one. I gave him another once-over. Brave words aside he looked like hell. The sight pained me with unexpected intensity. I lifted my hand to touch his arm then dropped it mid-motion in favor of smoothing invisible wrinkles out of the sheets.

"If this is too much, just say the word and I'll be off, 'kay?"

"Stay. Please. Helps me focus on something besides the pain…" He broke off with cough and a muted curse. Then he resumed, "So… Cerberus, huh?"

I winced, caught in surprise by the sudden switch. "It's, hmm, not like it looks like?" After Tali's reaction I hadn't the hots for indulging further in that topic.

" _That_ I'm almost certain... But how did you… I mean, Jeff told me what had happened with the Normandy. I didn't believe anyone could survive a fall like this…"

I realized I'd started tugging at the fringes of the blanket and stilled my fingers. There goes nothing.

"... Yeah… ahem, technically, I didn't."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself against whatever to come. Then I looked up and straight into his ice-blue eyes.

"Garrus… I _was_ dead. Not hanging somewhere in between or just a few minutes gone. Dead dead. Like in a burnt, shriveled corpse dead. And Cerberus… Well, somehow they salvaged my body and reanimated it. Or better, they forced the life back into it by all unholy means - we're still talking about Cerberus, not the welfare. And then, three days ago, I woke in a lab where half a dozen mechs were running havoc and Miranda was yelling at me to get my lily-white ass moving… So… here I am, screwing up all known concepts of 'souls' and 'afterlives'..."

I trailed off. I thought speaking out the uneasy facts aloud would have made them a little easier to cope with. Guess I erred.

The silence between us stretched until I almost lost it and ran for the door. Only… He neither averted his eyes nor showed any hint of distress. He just… looked, as if he was seeing me for the first time. I frowned. Had I caused him an aneurism? You never know with turians…

Giving his head a minuscule shake, he finally said in wonder, "Damn… _Damn!_ That's a tough one, even for you."

"I know… This is so fucked-up. Saved by Cerberus. Oh, the irony." I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms before me. "You're wondering, aren't you?"

"About what?"

"The ship. The crew. You wonder if it makes me switch sides; if it makes me forget the nightmares we've found in their compounds…"

"No I don't. Believe it or not but I learned a thing or two while you were… away. Sometimes… We don't always get to choose our allies. It's just what it is." Then he resumed lighter, "And technically you're not with them, they're with you. Something else entirely."

"I see. Outsmarted by my own reasoning."

The turian shrugged. Well, attempted to but the intention was obvious. "You're back; that's all that counts in my book. The rest…" He made a small waving gesture with his left hand. "… are semantics. We can figure them out on the way. Just like always."

Had he indeed winked at me? Reassuring? This was getting better and better. Courteous but reserved Garrus I could deal with, but rock-steady, patronizing Garrus was severely messing with my comfort zone.

_Say something, Shepard! Something smart-ass to prove you have things firmly in hand and don't need any help whatsoever…_

Unfortunately, there was just a huge blank in my head, as my genius ju-ust decided to leave me high and dry. Then Garrus spoke up again, and with it my time window to remedy this precarious situation was gone.

"I haven't told you yet, but thank you, Shepard. For bringing me out alive..."

"Sure. Anytime…" I said and cracked a weak smile. Oh boy. This was not my week.

"Hey… Hmm, about Tarak… and Jaroth. Did you… take care of them?"

I arched my brow at him. "Do you think they would get away with trying to kill my best soldier?"

"No. Probably not." Something crossed his features. Not anguish. Not anger. "I'm… just sorry it wasn't me taking them down..."

Hatred.

"Garrus…" I began softly. "What really happened between you and them?"

The turian sighed. "You will not stop digging anyway, will you?"

Someone else might have been flustered by being called out, but I just shrugged, all deadpan innocence.

He shook his head at me and said with a snort, "Alright then. As you can imagine things didn't go too well after we all parted. The Council, C-Sec; it was… frustrating. The one basking in their mind-staggering ignorance and the other… well, C-Sec definitely hasn't changed for the better. The Sovereign's remains vanished in the depths of the archive's vaults and they called the geth responsible. Out of sight, out of mind."

"Wow, that's convenience for you."

"You have no idea… We still tried to convince them of the threat, but without you… A simple C-Sec officer and an asari, barely mature? Our opinion didn't even carry enough weight to get more than a clammy handshake before they kicked our asses out of their provisory bureau."

"Wait. Anderson didn't back you up?"

"He was just installed as Councilor; opposing them openly would have done more harm than good then. And there was still the fallout following the Normandy's destruction. Humanity just lost their first Spectre…" He took a shallow breath. "I wanted to do some good; _help_ the people out there – not sit around pushing papers for Pallin or watching the Council squabble over trivia. So I simply packed my gear and went to the only place in the universe that would give me what I was asking for…"

"Omega."

"Exactly. And I found others…"

A tiny piece of information, I had picked up while roaming the mercs' base, emerged and fell into place. "Archangel… He had a team…"

"Yes. Eleven like-minded spirits Omega couldn't destroy, and determined as hell to fight back. And we were good. Feared by criminals; respected by the rest. I… should have seen the danger, but our success blinded me. Then the Blue Suns and Eclipse forged an alliance to get rid of us and one day…" His voice hardened and he stared over my shoulder at some distant place. "We've been betrayed and they killed my team. My friends."

"Garrus… I hadn't… I'm sorry…" The universe was never content with punching you in the face. It would also cut away your footing, boot you in the kidney and empty a bucket of dirt over your head.

"Yeah. Me too."

Our gazes met and only then did I truly register the change in his eyes; surfaced so clearly by the exertion and the painful memory. The gung-ho idealist, I had always admired for his rebellious will to fight for a better world, was gone. Instead I stared into the frosty gaze of a soldier who had been forsaken by all light and hope; a soldier trapped so deeply within his own personal hell that only death deemed to be the way out.

And I knew this look; I had seen it after Akuze.

In the mirror.

I wanted to tell him I understood, that I had been haunted by the same guilt, felt the same pain and shame he did; and that there was another way out of this, but the sad truth was I didn't even know how to begin. So I sat there in silence, once again incapable of exposing myself and say the right words to bridge the emotional distance between me and the people I claimed to care for…

I heard the door open and turned my head; relived for the excuse and hating myself for it. Dr. Chakwas stormed in, face a thunderhead. While she dragged me at my arm out of the Med Bay, ranting about infections and post-surgical stress, I mouthed my goodbyes to Garrus. Before I could hear his reply, though, the Doc had already tossed me out and locked the door behind me.

**.~'*'~.**

"You…" Lawson's Australian accent screeched through the Comm Room vociferous enough to make the insides of my ears hurt. "Are acting completely irrational, Mr. Massani. It's a _Blue Suns_ prison facility; what if someone thinks it might be a good idea to put their renegade founder into a cell? It will endanger the whole operation!"

She might just as well have bitched at the sun for all the impression she made.

"Wish they'd dare," the merc with the damaged vocal cords replied. "Been quite some time since I've seen some decent fun."

Of course Captain Control-Freak was not going to take this. "Fun? FUN? Now, listen to me, as the Executive Officer of this vessel, it is my responsibility to…"

And again they carried on and on, completely unperturbed by the fact that everything had been decided fifteen minutes ago. A dull throb hammered behind my eyes, making it really hard to concentrate on anything but the alluring thought of strangling first the merc and then my XO. Very slowly.

Why hadn't Cerberus left me to rot in peace?

The Professor had listened only for a solid three seconds, before deciding he was better off with sniffing into a Petri dish containing carnivorous bacteria, and even Taylor had fled the scene at some point. Muttered something about muzzles and cleaning his rifle. Not what _you_ think, pervo.

Of course, it wasn't really their fault, but the lack of anything even vaguely resembling decent sleep the past days had frayed my nerves and was slowly driving me to the edge of reason. I snatched up the steaming mug of coffee in front of me. Its soothing effect lasted for three seconds flat.

To top it, recruiting the warlord Okeer for our mission had turned out… unfortunate. Instead of a centuries-old krogan I had a dead warlord, a megalomaniac merc leader – guess what? Also dead – and a tank with a genetic experiment that would give a boner to any idiot harboring racial purity fantasies. About krogans.

 _This time everything will go smoothly_ , I thought as if to conjure it into happening through the mere power of my will. _It's a frigging pickup; we go in, take the prisoner and get out. Simple. W_ _ham, bam, thank you ma'am._

I was still wallowing in my little daydream about plans that actually went according to _plan_ , when Garrus suddenly appeared in the doorway to the Comm Room. He was wearing black track pants and a blue longsleeve of turian cut. I smiled, glad that we had the mind to get the location and the codes to a storage room where he kept spare equipment before leaving Omega behind. The last thing you needed after waking up was realizing you owned shit - first-hand experience, here.

Dr. Chakwas had replaced the bandages covering Garrus' face with some adhesive compresses and fixed his right jaw bone with an orthotic – in gray, to blend a least somewhat with his skin. Still, it didn't make his injuries look less grave – quite the contrary, since it now exposed that the left side of his face down to the mandibles was dark with bruises and heavily tattered; the symmetrical tattooed blue clan markings that crossed the bridge of his flat nose in an one inch wide band to curve along his cheekbone and down to the jaw ruptured beyond recognition. It must hurt like hell.

_What's another scarred soul in a battle that's already lost...?_

I shooed the bleak thought away, shaking my fist at it for added effect.

I waved a hand in greeting, and oh wonder – it also caused Lawson and Massani to fall silent in favor of introducing the mercenary to the turian sniper.

"Hey, you're up already? Sure the Doc will approve?" I asked forced cheerfully.

"I don't think she can blame me, hyped up on painkillers as I am. And I felt like moving. I swear if I was confined to that damn bed any longer I'd have blown a fuse..." the sniper replied and walked over to the table to stand across from me.

"I know what you mean. And the psychedelic pattern of the blanket is just the little red cherry on top of it…"

The turian snickered, then grimaced. "Oww. Stop making me laugh, my face is barely holding together as it is… You know, she refuses to hand me a mirror – this can't be a good sign."

"Yeah, it…" I bit my lip to prevent any facial derailments. "It _might_ be visible…"

Uh-huh, understatement of the century.

Something still must have given me away since Garrus sighed overly dramatically, saying. "And here I was led to believe that women like scars…"

From his corner, the scarred merc barked out hoarse laugh, further sabotaging my shot for diplomacy. "Like hell they do. They like'em so much that they point their bloody guns at you and make you pay upfront."

"C'mon, Garrus," Joker suddenly stated matter-of-factly through the radio. "You've _always_ been dead ugly, just slap some face paint on it and, whoop-de-do, no one would even notice."

"Ouch. Now you've hurt my feelings, Jeff. My face had been one of my assets."

I looked up and gave the camera and my flight lieutenant a hard stare. "I warned you, Joker. Stop spying over the surv system!"

"It's not spying! It's security check!"

"One question," Garrus started, leaning towards me and whispering in a way that was clearly meant to be carried across the room. "What do you think will happen if the XO learns that Jeff taps into the footage from the women's shower…"

"What?" Lawson exclaimed in indignation to Massani's unholy delight - which culminated in gloating laughter.

"That's not quite right Mr. Vakarian," EDI injected suddenly. "Mr. Moreau was simply testing the functionality of the surveillance system. It was purely coincidental that the shower was in use at that time. Also it was Officer Lawson only at the first check, at the second and third it was used by Yeoman Chambers and…"

"Hey Computer," Joker hissed. "Will you shut up? How many times do I have to…"

The connection broke and a very indignant Miranda was glaring about with an intensity only bloody murder could satisfy. It made me almost feel sorry for my little perverted flight lieutenant. Almost.

I directed an appeasing gesture at my XO. "I swear he's harmless."

She crossed her arms before her chest and tossed her perfect wave of hair. "With all due respect, but _your_ definition of harmless differs from normal by a fair margin."

Yep, I walked straight into that one. No need for the turian to almost fall over snickering, though.

I shrugged. "Comes with the job description, I guess." I turned towards Garrus. "Don't worry, you and your asset are always welcome to run forwardmost into neck-breaking endeavors with me. There's excellent catering and you even get paid for your efforts."

"Wait; since when do we get paid?" Garrus asked.

I lowered my voice and said conspiratorially. "Since there are people, who actually consider it insane to risk their asses for free."

"Really? What's wrong with them?"

His good mandible twitched and I, too, couldn't help the small chuckle escaping me. All of a sudden, the prospects of getting KIAed again looked much less bleak than just a few minutes ago.

Massani harrumphed. " You…" He pointed first at the turian then at me. "Are out of your bloody minds! Cerberus ain't paying _me_ enough to endure two of your kind."

I shrugged. "See?"

Miranda rolled her eyes. Really, the woman possessed less humor than a geth commando. "Commander, if we've settled everything then…"

"Alright," I said. "Why don't you just go ahead, prepare whatever needs preparing and I'll catch up with you in the Hangar shortly. And tell Jacob to gear up some heavies. Oh, and a few of those new flashbangs…"

She nodded and left, Massani hot on her heels. "Wait-a-minute, Lawson. Have I already told you that the Purgatory was initially…"

The door closed behind the merc. Garrus' shoulders slumped slightly, his hands resting on the table. He seemed weary to the bones and inevitably my thoughts wandered back to the cold bleakness I had sensed from him the other evening. Today he merely looked about with the kind of expression you got when life had finally hammered out all niceties from you.

"Hey… You're really okay?" I inquired hesitantly, bereft of any smart comments.

On impulse, my hand darted forward to enfold his. The back of his hand was warmer than I had expected; his skin somewhat rough. Callused, like my hands used to be. Our eyes met, and something… shifted. I could swear… For an instant and quickly suppressed, there had been this feral light in his gaze. A light snuffing out all coldness; so hypnotizing, drawing me like a moth to a flickering candle flame and making me feel… Suddenly, we both blinked and the moment passed.

_What the…?_

"A little worse for wear, but I think I'll manage, Shepard."

I smiled and released his hand quickly, while fighting the puzzlement in my head. "Yeah, we always do, don't we?"

* * *

  **~V~**

* * *

 

"Turn right… Okay. Now left. More. I can't believe this is all… ahh, better."

A stab of pain jolted through me, as Dr. Chakwas took my head in both hands and twisted it even a little more to the left. The beginnings of scar tissue that ran down my neck protested angrily against the movement. It was as amazing as it was unsettling how fast the wounds had started to heal up in this short time.

"I almost believe you do this on purpose." I said and rubbed my neck. Surprisingly, those sessions of torture did seem to help. I could turn my head much easier, and my neck felt less stiff. The Doctor was confident that I would regain at least 90% agility. I wasn't that optimistic, but as long as I was still able to hold a gun I wasn't going to complain. At least not much. There was still this trifle of a completely disfigured face to deal with…

"Garrus, I've sworn an oath to uphold life and abate pain," she said and wrinkled her forehead. Then she took a jar out of one of the numerous cabinets and started to apply a cooling ointment onto my shoulder with her slim fingers.

"Aha. So this is no payback for ignoring your order at 'faking sleep as soon as Shepard tricks herself into the Med Bay'?"

"Of course not; don't be irrational!" she said in an utterly pleasant tone, as if I wouldn't notice that the pressure on my skin had risen.

I endured silently. Perhaps that was my fate. Enduring overly violent women until the end of my days…

"How did you and Jeff end up with Cerberus?" I asked, glad about anything that might diverted the Doctor's attention away from the fact that she was still a little mad at me.

"After the attack… Well, unfortunately the Normandy's black box was destroyed and the Alliance didn't believe our story. Nine witnesses and they believed none. I dedicated the best years of my life to them and in the end they almost court-martialed us for losing the ship. Anyway, perhaps ten or eleven months after I received a message with an offer. Cerberus was never mentioned, I first learned about it when I met one of their operatives. I declined. Then they told me about the Normandy SR-2 and that they already contracted Jeff. I still hesitated. They offered more money, and I grew even more suspicious. Finally they put me into a room and the Illusive Man on hologram. Of course there was never a word of 'Lazarus', 'Resurrection' or 'Shepard' but there were implications... I hardly could leave the Commander alone in the middle of Cerberus. "

I nodded. "It was a good choice. I would have done the same."

A cryptic smile crossed her face. Then she resumed, "As for Jeff… Frankly, I think the fact that they offered him a pilot seat was all the convincing he needed." She gave me a stern look. "Oh, don't make that face… Flying is Jeff's life. The Alliance had him grounded and it devastated him. With his medical record and the charge of negligently losing their prestige project? They would have never given him another ship and all knew it."

"Still it's Cerberus." I muttered. "I say we better watch our sixes with them. I can't believe that Shepard puts up with this so placid."

"Placid?" Dr. Chakwas halted in her motions and regarded me. "I wouldn't be so sure. She might have arranged herself with the situation, yes, but aside from this? Can we even imagine what traces the resurrection left on her body? On her mind?"

I mulled it over. On the surface she seemed to be the same mouthy Commander as ever, but below her all her toughness was something… different. An unusual nervousness, a new haunted edge.

"She has changed much, hasn't she?"

The Doctor was silent for a moment. "There is… darkness in all of us, Garrus. Feelings, thoughts and actions we hide even from our closest friends. And sometimes these things are rendered bare against our will. You of all people should know that..."

I gave a minuscule start, but she simply resumed bandaging my shoulder as if she hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.

"There, as good as new," she said pleased and fixed the last part of gauze.

"If this is ill-timed, I'll be back later," a soft, female voice suddenly announced.

"No it's alright," I said and pulled my shirt back over my head.

The speaker was a young red-headed human woman, which was certainly considered pretty among her kind. As far as I was versed to judge these things. Something about her made the soldier in me wary, though. All her features emanated an air of utter innocence, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that betrayed a sharp mind. Not as innocent as it seemed, then.

You see, you always have to watch for the eyes. Well, except when dealing with hanar, in that case you better keep track of their numerous squidgy tentacles. Gestures, postures, in fact, all body language, could easily be trained to obscure the motives, but the eyes, they always gave them away. It was one of the first and rather painful lessons I learned when I entered the military. Never _ever_ dismiss an opponent just because the body looked weak. That girl had bashed me up quite soundly. I, hmm, had gotten the better of her in the end, but that was a different story.

"I'm Kelly Chambers," she said in an almost singing way, "the Normandy's yeoman and responsible for monitoring the mental state of the crew."

"Shrink?" I said before I could stop myself.

"Yes, well, we actually _do_ prefer the term 'psychological counselor'. So…" She typed something into her datapad. "If you don't mind, I'd like you to answer a few questions."

She had adopted something which should have probably passed off as a stern face, but utterly failed to inflict any obedience on me. And I was a turian, breed and raised to follow even the most ridiculous orders.

"Sure," I said carefully and stilled my features into impassiveness, in avoidance of getting hit by a datapad. You never knew, some humans were astonishingly good at reading turian expression and I already got my daily dose of angry female. No need to push my luck any further.

Suddenly the stern mask broke and she grinned at me in a very mischievous way. "I'm going to judge your combat readiness on this, Officer Vakarian, so if you're going to lie, you better do it convincingly."

* * *

  **~V~**

* * *

 

"What exactly do you expect to gain from this little show, Kuril?" I shouted over the gunfire from my hiding place, a rather unreliable looking crate. "Money? Power? Miranda in a sexy stripper outfit?"

"Hey, I heard that one!" Mentioned Cerberus agent huffed from her cover behind me and I shot her an apologetic smile over my shoulder. Don't judge, this time I had really tried to do things the Lawson way, with precautions, careful preparations and all, and look what it had gotten me: cabin feverish prison wardens with the conviction that taking me hostage was a real smart idea.

"Cut it, Shepard, your dirty little tricks won't help you," Kuril, the warden of the Purgatory, shouted back. "Open your eyes, you're never going to make it off my ship. Outnumbered. Surrounded. But tell you what? If you drop your weapons now, I promise you won't be hurt too much before you wander into your personal cryo cell. Deal?"

_Sure. And this sea-side property in Kansas is quite the steal, right?_

A good thing I always made sure to bring a few extra aces to the game.

"Taylor, now!"

Quickly, I averted my eyes, and the flashbang exploded in the air somewhere ahead of me. I used the diversion to switch my cover. Right in time, for moments later, one of Kuril's heavies pulverized my crate into splinters. So far we had managed to pin the warden with six of his guards in one of the cryo areas, but a look behind me revealed that we might better hurry up. On that, he was unfortunately right. Releasing most of the convicts at once had started out as quite a clever diversion, but now the guards had recovered from their initial shock and were pushing them back. And then they would come for us.

A boom shook the area behind me. I spared a glance back, only to see… havoc. In every sense of the word. A huge ragged hole, that hadn't been there a moment ago, was gaping in the right wall, spewing out a bald, slim figure in cargo pants and a wildly patterned shirt. The young woman saw the guards, and even from my position some forty paces away I could see how her expression contorted into hatred. Skin stretched over nothing but sheer hate. On a second glance it wasn't a shirt but dozens of tattoos crawling over almost every visible inch of her body.

"WHO GETS FUCKED NOW!"

Most didn't even have time to scream. Her arms flashed blue and then an enormous Shockwave raced towards them; slamming the guards against the opposite wall, crushing bones and flesh in clouds of red. The remaining convicts tried to flee. She turned her head and sent another blast after the scattering men, creating a passage through the left wall.

"I'LL KILL YOU ALL!" she screeched and ran after the convicts who tried to flee through the new opening.

Great. And in case you're wondering: yep, _this_ was our 'package'. Murphy fucking hated me.

Inspired by the impressive performance, I half-heartedly tried to summon my own biotics, expecting to find nothing but a trickle. The grip I had on myself right now was too strong for anything else. Despite all the years of training the Alliance had inflicted on me, there was this one 'flaw' they could have neither beaten nor coaxed out of me. As common knowledge asserted, in order to access full biotic strength, one had to assume an inner serenity, a distinct equilibrium of mind, body and soul.

When it came to me, common knowledge was apparently as helpful as boobs on a YMIR mech.

The sole way to unleash my potential was to shred my current equilibrium and drive me beyond any reason and control until there was nothing left even remotely remembering serenity. Or sanity. Unfortunately, raging in madness across the battlefield was out of _my_ options. Not now, not ever.

In this light, it astonished me all the more to find it rather easy to tap the additional branches of my nerve system and feel the prickle that fueled all those tiny eezo nodules that had grown through my body even before I was born. I tried not to think about its sinister origin. Which didn't work out the least – instead I pictured Cerberus messing around with overly powerful neuro-implants with who-knows-what unpredictable side effects. Fuck me. Closing my lids, I focused on the prickle, imagining feeding more of my body's energy into it. The prickle grew stronger. A faint crackle in the air. The smell of lightning, as the oxygen around me got ionized and turned into ozone. The primal tugging of raw power, running through my body. I opened my eyes to find my left hand covered in blue lights, flashing and sizzling with all the ire I never allowed myself to feel.

A little deranged grin was creeping into my face.

Kuril was in for yet another surprise.

* * *

  **~V~**

* * *

 

After an hour of being questioned and another of debating with the Mess Sergeant about the finesses in turian cuisine – which procured mainly the insight that I'd better fix my meals myself - I was stowing the contents of the two crates, retrieved from Omega, into the Main Battery's lockers. It wasn't much, but it would do. Most importantly, I had spare parts to give my severely damaged armor at least a quick fix. I rummaged through the first crate for something else useful, but aside from a battered Predator, which was more sorry excuse than serious weapon, a few clips, and various additions for my Mantis, it didn't procured anything truly enlightening.

Call me sentimental, but I really regretted that I had been forced to leave my rifle behind. And not just because the Mantis was Devlon Industries' direct successor to the Striker model, which had been my choice of weapon since I had been recruited into recon all those years ago. When you spend so much time with a weapon that saved your ass more often than you could count, well, then you inevitably did develop more than just a few emotional ties to it.

At least something good had come from the interrogation: Chambers had attested me no mental restraints in order to serve in operational missions. And this despite I had hedged some of her more personal questions, of which I was not entirely sure she hadn't just made them up spontaneously to prod me. Or satisfy her disconcerting curiosity about me. At one point, I had thought the Yeoman would call me out, but surprisingly, she had said nothing. Probably she rather believed me puzzled, then suspecting a lie. And what kind of absurd routine question was "Do you hear voices in your head," anyway?

 _However pretty she seems, she's no match on Shepard_.

I gave a start, barely catching the spare scope before it dropped to the floor. Just like before in the Comm Room, this most strange notion had simply slipped in and caught me off guard.

 _Don't be an idiot. That's your Commander, your_ alien _Commander._

Indeed, this was ridiculous. Friendship or not, she was still above all my commanding officer and you just did not qualify them in _those_ terms. Gains nothing but a lot of trouble. Besides, humans were odd, too soft, too frail and with way too many fingers. Perhaps my near death had derailed my wits worse than I thought and this was some kind of PTSD aftermath. Must have been the meds.

I nodded to myself and inspected the second crate. Right on top sat a pair of old C-Sec cuffs. In contrast to what one might believe _those_ had actually seen their intended purpose. Next curled the chain with my ID tags. I had taken them off the day I arrived on Omega. Better for my family to mourn a son missing without a trace, than the unpleasant certainty that he had fallen in his very own guerilla war in midst of the galaxy's worst scum... I pulled the darkened silver chain free and put it around my neck, then let the rhombic tags vanish underneath my shirt. The familiar weight rested coolly against my skin it was almost, well… as if a piece of normality was returned to me.

I shifted shirts and pants and found some of the prizes and badges I earned during my service. A dead weight, yet they reminded me of those days of old - not necessarily better, but certainly easier days. I spotted the medal of valor they gave me for this mission on Invictus, where I was able to pull out my squad, despite two cracked rips, five bullets in my body and a fractured arm. After Omega though… it seemed like utter mockery.

I had finally dug to the bottom of the crate and found a grey plastic box, two spans wide, sitting there. I had totally forgotten about this one. As I reached for the box, I heard the doors open and turned to face the visitor.

It was Taylor, carrying a metal suitcase. So, they were back from the Purgatory. The trip had taken suspiciously long and I asked, "Did you get the convict?" Something in the Cerberus agent's attitude made me add. "You had troubles?"

"Yeah, and it's a maniacal, foul-mouthed, ever-pissed woman, if someone's gonna ask you," the Cerberus agent replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Really? There are others?"

It cracked up the stoic face of the dark-skinned soldier and he gave a short laugh. "Probably not. Hey, if I'd tell you that the Purgatory won't be into service anytime soon, if ever; where would it put this mission on your scale?"

"Hmm, I'd say, just another day in the illustrious life of our Commander…" I said and he actually looked a little aghast at that, but it was hard to tell with humans and their million-and-one facial expressions.

"This can't be happening all the time!"

Yeah, definitely aghast.

"Well, not all the time. But… Did you have a major release of nerve gas or other toxic material?"

"No?" he replied carefully.

"Groups of ghoulish creatures or rachni or both ambushing you?"

"Jeez, no!"

"Ahh, you see? Not half as bad…"

He shook his head in amazement. "And here I thought I knew what I got myself into…"

"Never mind, we all made _that_ error at first," I replied wryly.

"Anyway, I heard Kelly and the Doctor suit you soon fit enough for duty. I thought you might want to have this…" He handed me the suitcase and I sat it on the table near the door, snapping the lids open. It contained… _my_ Mantis? Bloody hell. The rifle was neatly disassembled and spotless clean.

I looked at Taylor in surprise. "That's… unexpected."

"Thank the Commander. She took it back to ship. I just made sure it's fully operative. I fixed the trigger; a wonder the thing made it that long. Ah, I hope you don't mind."

"No, it's okay. Thank you. And again for cleaning her up."

"Anytime, man." Taylor replied while shaking my offered hand. I've been around humans long enough to pick up at least enough of their customs to avoid appearing like an uncouth savage.

" _Her_?" Shepard's highly amused voice drifted from the door to us. She had switched her armor with some crew uniform and was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed before her. "That's rot, Garrus, everybody knows guns are male."

"I beg to differ, my Commander," I said and patted the Mantis' barrel, "they are _exactly_ like women. Care for them well and they'll loyally follow you to end of the universe. But woe you neglect them… They'll twist against you in your hands faster than you can blink. Preferably, in the middle of a battle – just by principal."

Taylor nodded, a knowing grin on his face, and we exchanged a look of this certain wordless understanding only another male could share. Of course, Shepard wouldn't give in that easily, not even when outnumbered. Ahh, make that _especially_ not when outnumbered.

"O'really?" she retorted, while arching one of those brows at me. "Isn't it rather so that they're the most solid and reliable bro a soldier can get, never complaining; fighting along your side, come hell or high-water, while you on the other hand only have to cater for their most primal needs?" She tried for one of those challenging stares, but the twitching of her lips' corners spoiled the effect greatly.

_Amusing ourselves to no end, are we?_

Before I could come up with my return, Jeff's voice came through the intercom. "Commander, I have the Illusive Man on hold. He says he knows where the Collectors will attack next."

The three of us shared a grave look. And just like that reality had reared its ugly head and yelled its challenge at us.


	6. The bitter taste of defeat

Nothing's ever changed, you still turn away  
You've washed your hands, you've made that all too clear  
You just keep on living this lie

You refuse to see, you're denying me  
the cross I bear but you don't seem to care  
Even Judas knew he had lied

I keep wondering why  
I'm still calling your name through my tears

Why have you waited to embrace me my dear?  
Cold is your silence, denying what is real  
I'm still wondering why  
I'm still calling your name my dear

_Within Temptation – The Cross_

* * *

**~ The bitter taste of defeat ~  
**

"Damn, this is best fucking meal I had in ages!"

Across from me, Gabriella Daniels and Kenneth Donnelly stared first in unison at the speaker – an overly tattooed convict, freshly salvaged from the Purgatory - then gazed around the Mess' table as if to rally support for their consternation. It was a vain attempt, though.

Massani, the former Blue Suns mercenary, just snorted, never stopping flipping through some magazine - of which I wasn't entirely sure if it was about weapons, barbequing sides of meat or paramilitary women in skimpy outfits. Expectantly, the two human engineers turned to me, as if I could add more than just a non-committal shrug. Though measured by the colorful reactions to the Mess Sergeant's cooking I had observed so far, I was selfishly glad that my food came nicely canned and sterilized to death. Usually the downside of being the only dextro-amino-based life form on a levo-amino ship. At least the last time Tali had been there to share the misery. I circled my spoon through the bowl in front of me with a sigh, the last bit of my appetite fleeing at the sight of the indefinable mush - which I initially had planned to "enjoy" in utter solitude. The pain that was once again flaring along the right half of my body had reduced my desire to indulge in a conversation to sub-zero.

Unfortunately the universe didn't gave a vorcha's ass about my plans and so I found that the two engineers and Massani had also decided to skip the main bulk of the crew and settled in for a late dinner. I had almost backed up again to my hideout in the Main Battery unnoticed when Daniels spotted me and, to my utter surprise, immediately invited me to join them without showing the slightest reservation. Unusual, since the deep-rooted distrust that traced all the way back to the Relay 314 Incident was still persisting on both species' sides until this very day; let alone that this was, after all, a Cerberus vessel. But, before I realized it, I was drawn into a lively discussion about the pros and cons of the SR-2's modified Tantalus core and why - despite the constant danger of cooking us alive - the new stealth system was _still_ the most outstanding enhancement of all.

That was, until the convict strolled into the Mess tugging down the hem of a white sleeveless rib shirt. She made a beeline for the stove then sat down at the head of the table, a bowl heaped with some kind of stew in hand. The engineers fell silent. Nobody would admit it but this woman that merely called herself Jack was scaring the living hells out of everyone.

The bareheaded woman lowered her fork and glared at the two engineers who were still staring at her in disbelief. Perhaps also a little pitiful; which was likely the deadlier mistake.

"What?" she snarled.

"You… _really_ like it?" Donnelly asked hesitantly in his strange drawling accent. The convict's expression soured further and he resumed stuttering, "Ahh… I mean… never mind…"

From my right came another contemptuous snort. Then the veteran mercenary added, "The Purgatory isn't a vacation resort, y'know. What do you think do they feed their 'guests' in there?"

Jack nodded and scraped the last remains from her bowl, then looked at Massani's half-filled with predatory eyes. "Hey, aren't you going to eat this?"

He pushed the bowl in her direction and barked a laugh. "Be my guest, kiddo."

Her forehead wrinkled. The hand holding her fork twitched dangerously, but to my surprise no attempt to violate Massani's tender parts followed. Instead she snatched the bowl and dug into the already cold stew.

_Why Shepard, you couldn't have simply picked up a rabid shatha instead, could you?_

"So…" Gabriella Daniels finally said into the somewhat uneasy silence, while producing a small package from her pocket. "Cards, anyone?"

**.~'*'~.**

I squinted at the card I just received from the stack and counted the tiny black symbols resembling heart-shaped leaves. Nine. I added the card to another pair of nines and discarded a black two. With a shudder, I sipped on the herbal tea Dr. Chakwas had forced on me. Where she could have possibly found this vile brew was beyond me. Probably in some Cerberus crate labeled "interrogation tools".

Next to me, Jack was tilting on the edge of her chair, rapping the table with her fingers tips in an unnerving staccato.

"What's up, kiddo? Nervous because of a bad hand?" Massani asked and picked up his glass filled with some kind of blackish soda drink with a grin, which received a distinct maniacal edge through the unmoving artificial eye and the scar tissue tugging unnaturally at the corner of his mouth. Over the last hour, the battle-worn mercenary had developed a worrisome delight in prodding the foul-mouthed sociopath. He probably harbored a secret death-wish.

"Fuck, no. My hand will beat your lousy one any day." Jack spat back, scowling hard enough at the deck as if to scare the cards into compliance. Finally, her fingers stopped and she snatched up a fresh card from the deck.

"She's right," Gabriella said with a smirk for the mercenary and a tap for the scores she had scribbled on a small notepad. " _Your_ overall performance is even worse..."

"Bloody women…" Massani muttered wryly. "Always bloody sticking together."

Malicious glee spread across the biotic's features and she dismissed a red face card. The lady of hearts - according to the lack those weird "beards".

So there we were, sitting in the Mess with a drink and a game, while the Normandy was rushing towards Horizon, where Cerberus presumed to be the next Collector's attack. You had to give it to Gabriella, the cards worked as an even better icebreaker than sharing hard liquor behind your commander's back. It had taken only one round to lighten the convict's ramrod rampage mood and keep the two engineers from jumping out of their skin whenever she sneezed in their general direction. She seemed almost sociable. Well, that was, as sociable as a borderline psychopath with a massive impulse control disorder could get.

Jack was tapping the table again. She stilled her hand and said, "Thirteen months. I was thirteen fucking months in this hell hole; most of it in cryo, the rest..." She paused and something indescribable flashed her face before it was sucked up once more by her usual pissed-off attitude. Wherever the memory had led her, I was fairly certain it was a place I wouldn't want to see for all the credits in the galaxy.

The convict poured herself a shot of some clear liquid, which she had found raiding the cabinets of the Mess, gulped it and slammed the small glass on the table.

"Whatever. Damn, I'd suck the chrome off the scarred's AND the ugly's bumper for a smoke," she said and Donnelly coughed frantically, almost chocking to death on his coffee. Then she added, "And with ugly, I mean you, Massani!" baring her teeth in a wordless snarl.

She would do _what_? Oh. I shook my head, chuckling. Humans.

The mentioned merc put down his drink and laughed hoarsely while poking with his finger in her direction. Dangerous. "Watch it, princess. Don't promise what ya can't deliver." He added a rough wink that completely belied the nickname's innocence. Must have been a really painful death-wish.

"Call me _that_ one more time, Massani, and I swear you gonna breathe through a fucking tube for the rest of your pathetic life…" Jack snarled but curiously her tone was just not quite matching the vehemence of her words. Had they just… Nah. Impossible.

"Uh, I think there's no need to get drastic." With a flustered smile, Gabriella stood up and sprinted towards the crew's cabin. A moment later she returned and pushed a little white paper box with a red circle on it towards the tattooed woman. "Go into the Hangar, next to the vent near the shuttle. As long as you… moderate yourself, the sensors won't pick up on the smoke and you avoid getting dosed with extinguishing foam."

"Not that _this_ actually has _ever_ happened…" Kenneth Donnelly mumbled into his mug, receiving a baleful look from the other engineer.

Gabriella lifted her right hand to her mouth, lowered her voice and leaned a little closer towards Jack. "Anyway, if you're quick about it, you won't even get lectured by EDI."

Jack's eyes actually lit up in joy. It was so out of place, I had to look twice. She snatched the box, dropped her cards and pushed away from the table, saying, "I'm out this round. Perhaps the old man finally manages to catch up."

"Hey, what about my health," the merc exclaimed. "The air you planning to pest will be reused, you know?"

Instead of answering, she just graced him with her outstretched middle-finger - the most important human hand sign I had ever learned - then virtually bolted for the elevator.

"You're correct, Mr. Massani," EDI suddenly injected. "But in contrast to the rest of the ship, the Hangar's air is cleansed through an additional secondary filtering system to prevent contamination through environmental toxins brought in with the shuttle. As Engineer Daniels already stated, although violating 21 active security protocols, smoking in the Hangar will cause the least contamination of air." The Normandy's defense intelligence sounded positively vexed, and not for the first time I wondered how much more developed than her congeners the AI really was.

"Hey, Kenneth," Gabriella exclaimed and boxed the engineer's shoulder with a fist. "Stop staring like an uncivilized dolt, will you?"

"What? Nay! It's just… One of those tat's, it was winking at me, I swear…" the scolded man said, while rubbing his shoulder with quite some drama. "Ow. There was no need for hitting that hard."

Deliberately, Gabriella ignored the huffy engineer and turned to me with a most benign smile, asking suspiciously neutral, "Garrus, is it true? I mean, what Jack said to Officer Lawson?"

I rolled my eyes. Right. And here I thought they had invited me just for my charming nature…

"Which one?" I asked, resigning in my fate. "That she's a spoiled miss-priss, sucking up to Cerberus in general and the Illusive Man in particular? Or that she's in dire need of some 'trunk humping' to loosen it up a bit?"

"Oh my god! She _really_ said that? What happened then?" The dark-haired woman propped on her elbows; eyes sparkling with unveiled curiosity and even Donnelly seemed intent on missing not one piece of information.

Soldiers and ship crew - the galaxy's worst gossip-mongers.

"Bah," Massani huffed. "Nothing, lucky us. I thought it best to take the 'homicidal psycho slut straight outta hell' back to the cargo to have her cool her heels, before they could rip a hole into the hull."

"The Officer didn't try to intervene?" Kenneth Donnelly threw in. "The way I ken her, she can be quite… uhh… persistent."

I took another sip from my tea and said, "I convinced her that it's in her best interest not to provoke any incidences that might force the Commander into a coronary."

Actually, the Cerberus agent had seemed more than happy to make do with snapping _my_ head off instead, but had eventually seen reason. Unfortunately, only _after_ she'd thrown her chair at me.

We had just started another round when Jack returned; wearing the utterly relaxed and pleased expression, a man usually had to make quite some effort for. What _did_ they put into these things?

"Thanks, I owe you one," the biotic said while tossing the box back to Gabriella.

The dark-haired engineer caught it mid-air and it disappeared in one of the numerous pockets of her pants. "Anytime. We girls have to stick together, you know. Feel free to pass by whenever you want to chat."

At that, the vile looking woman actually displayed an expression of pure horror. Let's see: killing hordes and hordes of enemies couldn't faze her, but the prospect of girl's talk did? Remarkable.

A sudden shout and a loud bang sounded from somewhere below. Cargo Bay. We looked at each other; then hastily got up. Lawson stretched her head out from her cabin set behind the galley, discovered the convict and vanished inside again. I outrun the four humans and jumped into the elevator, hitting the button for the Engineering.

What was the madwoman up to this time?

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

I flexed my muscles in slow controlled motions. I was one with myself with my environment, all disconcerting thoughts pushed back into the remotest corner and… My concentration wavered and all calm, achieved through painstakingly slow tai chi motions, fled me. Again. I growled in annoyance at the dark walls of the Hangar. This was so _not_ working. I snatched up my towel and my gun, made sure the thermo clip was full and headed towards the elevator. Don't you judge, or had space pirates ever tried to hijack the ship you've been on?

The doors opened and I almost bumped into the latest ban of my existence. Jack gave a start and the smug grin slid of her face like grease on a hot stone. Barely a few hours defrosted and freakzilla here was already stomping with her Rampage'R'us attitude over all my efforts to make a group of people with questionable sanity team up. Worse, I wouldn't have even known if not for Joker who had almost fallen over himself to tell me how the two biotics had been ju-ust inches away from coming to blows, the moment I turned my back on them. And to rip off their clothes in the process. His interpretation, not mine.

In another life it might have amused me greatly to see the uptight Cerberus agent brought down a notch or two, yet the dutiful commander in me was jumping around three steps shy of an apoplexy given the FUBAR potential this was providing. So I settled on shooting the agitator a glare.

_That's right, you're sooo busted._

She grimaced and released a string of muttered obscenities as if her life depended on it. Fucking pottymouth.

Then she said, "I don't know what those idiots told you, but that Cerberus bitch started."

"Aha." Aha was a fantastic word. Neither question, nor statement, but always luring the other person into elaboration.

"Look, _we_ made an agreement. _She_ was trying to weasel out of it. You need to call her off or this business ends right here."

I nodded. "I gave my word. You will get the files. But…"

Her eyes narrowed. Right. Another one who didn't like getting but'ed.

"… _but_ you _will_ at least work together; nice and civilized without trying to kill each other and the rest of us in the process!"

"Or what?" The bald woman asked with a menacing growl.

"Or I'm booting the two of you out the airlock faster than you can blink." I said and fixed her with my little deranged smile.

There are those rare times when a certain reputation actually paid off. Or she needed those files really badly. Whatever the case, the vile-looking woman kept silent for a moment then she asked hesitantly, "That's all? Play nice with the cun… cheerleader and I'll get the access?"

"That's all I'm asking."

_Ah yes, that and please risk your ass for our mission by killing your way through lots and lots of really weird things._

On a second thought, I really should have thrown that in – might have worked as an excellent incentive with the little creep.

"Okay. I can handle it," she said, once more filled with so much immoral superiority, it threatened to pour out of her ears.

"Glad to hear we have an agreement," I replied and stepped into the elevator.

Buoyed at how well this problem went, I halted at the engineering and sashayed into the Cargo Bay, straight towards the console. I experienced a moment of doubt upon the sanity of my decision; quickly followed by Miranda's reasonable voice ranting in my head - _You know, Shepard, you're about to release a berserk krogan onto the ship?_ – but luckily I managed to snuff it out before it made me change my mind.

Let's face it: reason and me didn't go along too well.

Of course it had nothing to do with the fact that the illustrious TIM had insisted on keeping the tank locked tighter than a guy's butt cheeks in prison. My team was still small, and consisted of way too many bodies whose loyalty was ambiguous at best. I simply highly doubted a tank-breed super-soldier would come up with _that_ kind of baggage. Plus, I still hadn't the foggiest idea with what we actually had to deal here but if it really tied back to the Sovereign somehow… I wouldn't look a gifted krogan killer machine in the mouth. No seriously, I wouldn't.

"Commander," EDI spoke up. "I calculated that there is a 68 percent probability that the individual is hostile." If I hadn't known better, I would have said the AI was a little bit uneasy.

I checked for my Predator stuffed into the waistband of my track pants. "Relax EDI, I have this under control." Heheh, you know, sort of.

I typed in the command sequence and the opaque nutrient solution drained off. The tank opened with a hiss.

The buck naked krogan took a solid three seconds before deciding to charge me. Then he jumped down the pedestal and crushed into me, shoving me against the wall. For a moment, my lungs refused to work and my head knocked against the wall with dull bang. Stars danced across my vision. Ow. The musky smell of serpent lair, mixed with the salty citric scent of the nutrient solution, hit my nose. I blinked the spots away, only to find slitted reptilian eyes, cold and hard, hovering in front of my face, trying to drill into my skull. Thick hands clawed painfully into my shoulders like vises, reducing my agility to zip. Wet spots formed on my shirt as small rivulets of the solution ran down his arms, soaking the grey fabric.

The krogan sniffed at me, his nostrils wrinkling. "Female. You opened the tank. Fight. Or die like the weak creature you are."

Charming.

"I'm Shepard, the commander of this ship and I've an offer to make." Silence. If anything, something in his gaze told me to better speed this up, so I added, "I'm heading into a battle against impossible odds and I could use a warrior like you in my team. What do you say?"

"The fact that you're in need of asking just shows your unworthiness of mine." He pulled back his leathery lips, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

I wasn't quite sure if it was a grin or just a flexing of muscles before biting my face off. I watched how a small bead of liquid formed at the edge of the scaly bulge of bluish skin above his right eye. It dropped. He never blinked.

What now? All my major experiences in dealing with krogans stemmed from Wrex, and he had been an old-ass bastard with centuries of life's wisdom. This felt more like crossing a room littered with bear traps. Hopping on one leg. Blindfolded.

"You mistake me. I wasn't _asking_. I'm giving you the chance to prove yourself against something greater than you. I've strong enemies and an even stronger clan. The question is: are _you_ worthy of them?"

"I think, I'm killing you now… You're talking too much."

Oy. Commander Shepard, mankind's top-notch negotiator. My grip tightened around the Predator I had pulled even before I hit the wall. Then I thought of something better. Something more… flashy.

I tapped into the pool of power waiting just inside me. Energy raced through my body; writhing under my skin; begging to be released. No frigging way to electrocute even a hamster with this, but, as I had gambled for, the unfamiliar electric shock eased the krogan's grip. This short moment of surprise was all I needed. I built up everything I had into one single blast, hoping it would be enough. The ball of blue lightning jumped forward; pushing against the krogan's bare chest. He flew backwards and he crushed into the steel locker near the door with a loud bang.

_Holy hell!_

He shook his massive head. The krogan was built like brick wall that sprouted arms and legs. Thick muscles bulged almost unnaturally along his body, as he griped with his clawed hands at the edges of the locker - which was now reduced to a deformed piece of junk. The remains groaned in a defiant protest and he slowly got up, cracking his neck. In fascination I watched how the burnt patch of skin on his chest slowly turned pale again. Krogan regeneration. A real pain in the ass.

Though I felt the drain of the demonstration keenly, the gun in my outstretched hand didn't quiver. I aimed low. I didn't want to kill and _this_ would just hurt like fuck. By reflex, my eyes followed the aim. Oh boy. No wonder they were such a self-conceited bunch.

The krogan looked first at the damaged locker, the gun pointing at his endowment and then at me. Finally, he coughed up a coarse laugh, smashing his fists together. It sounded as if someone had slapped a T-bone steak onto a table. "Perhaps, you're not as unworthy as it seems…"

From the corner of my eye, I registered movement. What the… Garrus was sneaking into the room. My gaze had just flickered for the fraction of a second, but the krogan had caught on it nonetheless. What else to expect from a killing machine bred into perfection? He swirled around, huge paws gripping the turian at the collar of his shirt, who, for any blasted reason whatsoever, had still been staring at me. It cost him dearly.

"You!" the krogan growled, a sound like a landslide racing downhill, while pushing my friend forcefully against the mangled remains of the locker. "I know you; the tank told me about you. Archenemy. Your kind needs to be wiped from the face of the galaxy... I just as well might start with you."

O-kay. Now, this was bad. I raised my gun and edged closer. Dammit. This cozy evening certainly escalated faster than a bachelor party at the Afterlife.

"Release me or die," Garrus hissed; a really evil looking knife in his hand.

I hadn't even seen him draw it. The ten inches long, wickedly jagged blade hovered just before the krogan's eye, trembling slightly.

"I'll shove it up your skull before you've time to twitch, krogan. Just try me!" The turian uttered in the same menacing snarl; the sound of a predator set out to kill. Cold anger radiated from him in waves and his face… Like looking into a glacier.

"Garrus! Stop!" He ignored me. Ah, yes. No intelligent life here.

Voices drifted to us from the elevator. They provided a short distraction, in which the krogan divided his attentions. I sprinted the last yards and stood in his line of sight. I pushed the barrel of my Predator at his temple, all focus on the huge reptile. Begging to the gods of reason that Garrus wouldn't come up with any more creative moves.

"That's enough," I said calmly, but with all the steel underneath, years of military training had ingrained deeply into my bones. Shouting women? Hah, no one took _those_ seriously. "Wanna know why my team is that strong? Because we're all different. Different backgrounds, different skills, different _species_ ; diversity's the key to true domination over your enemies. Lend the krogan's strength and battle fury to our cause; match yourself against my enemies. Don't you think that's more honorable than bleeding dry on the floor; dying like a weakling?"

Heaven help me, I sounded like some dunce of overblown action hero. _This is Commander A.W.E.S.O.M.E and the Marvelous Space Knights – Up, up, to infinity, and beyond!_

Luckily, the krogan lacked the experience to draw such inconvenient comparisons. With a gruff harrumph he let go of Garrus and backed up. Completely unconcerned by his lack of clothes, he crossed arms like trunks before his chest, radiating all krogan pride and confidence. Or male pride and confidence. You know, kinda hard to distinguish.

Suddenly he snorted. "Funny. I can recall Okeer's beliefs and hatreds talking to me. They whisper of blood and glory, but fail to realize that dead warriors win no war. So…" He eyed me warily and said, "I'll fight alongside you and your turian, Shepard. But your foes better be worth my patience."

"You won't be disappointed." I said and stuffed the Predator into the waistband of my pants once more.

"My name… is Grunt."

I inclined my head towards him. "Welcome to my team, Grunt." Then I added, hardening my voice, "And Grunt? Never, _ever_ lay hands on one of mine again. Understood?"

Arms stemmed into my side I gave him the evil eye until he finally growled in admittance. Then I picked up my towel and tossed it to him. He was still dripping nutrient solution all over the place. It bounced of his head and dropped to the floor. He looked at it contemptuously.

Just what I needed: another streaker on my ship.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in resignation and said patiently, "There are clothes and armor in the crate behind the tank. You better get dressed; it's a pesky burden called 'common decency,' you know?"

He bellowed a short laugh. "Just because I was raised in the tank, it doesn't mean I don't know the rules of your _society_." With that he stomped towards the metal crate and pulled out the armor. Each piece separately.

"Alright." I said when the krogan finally managed to store his goods away in combat gear. Unfortunately, I had already seen much more than I would have ever asked for. "This is Garrus Vakarian." I nodded towards the turian. He was leaning against the wall left to the door with deceptive ease, watching the scene through lidded eyes. "And since they're already gawking at this spectacle, you can just as well meet some other members of my team. Yeah, I meant you!" For the last I had raised my voice, causing the four bystanders to shuffle reluctantly into the Port Cargo.

Positive that they could handle the situation of introducing themselves without causing another interspecies incident, I motioned sharply to Garrus in the universal gesture for 'let's get outta here'. Later I'd send Kelly down, to have her explaining to Grunt the other customs on a human ship. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

When the doors of the elevator closed behind us, I allowed myself a sigh of relief and sagged with my back against the wall, closing my eyes for a brief moment. For once, no dead bodies left behind. No harm, no foul, right?

Slowly, the lingering weakness faded, leaving me hungry again. Just a byproduct of my body adjusting to the new implants... At least that was I managed to pry out of the Doc without having her tie me down and examine all the other little freakish extras, I was not ready to face yet. So I was a sissy. Sue me.

"Hey, Shepard… I'm curious," Garrus said from my right. "How exactly did the locker get its krogan-shaped dent?"

Instead of an answer, I stretched out my hand, blue sparks licking at the skin from my forearm to my fingertips. I concentrate on the force within and a small orb hovered over my palm. A few seconds later I closed my fist with a slow circling motion and the light vanished. It should freak me out how much easier this was getting with each time, but somehow I was just too tired to summon any anxiety.

"I thought your biotics aren't worth mentioning?"

"Yah. That's also what I thought until recently. Someone at Cerberus obviously felt that this is a 'problem' in need of a fixing…" I said, feeling bitter.

The turian shrugged, as if spontaneous ability buffs were the most ordinary thing where he came from. "It's an edge and I got the feeling we will need every one we can get." Then he chuckled softly. "Commander Shepard, fearsome biotic AND passable shooter? I can't help feeling sorry for our enemies…"

" _Passable?_ I'm going to give you passable, Vakarian. Besides…" I turned my head and looked sharply at him, in his shirt, with the now thoroughly mangled collar. "What in the name of hell possessed _you_ to do this… this demented stupidity of sneaking upon a krogan with obvious issues to distinguish friend from foe?"

He suddenly turned all serious. "You're bleeding."

"Huh?" It was only then that I registered the sting on my cheek and something wet drying against my skin. I wiped my hand at it, surprised to find my fingers came away bloodied. Grunt had scratched me at some point, most likely when he departed for the locker.

The lift stopped and I opened my mouth to argue that this was no explanation whatsoever, but he forestalled me by saying, "See you in the morning, Shepard." And he exited the cabin.

"Hey!" It was all I managed to shout before the doors closing behind him cut off my protests. The elevator resumed riding upwards, but _I_ hadn't pushed the button.

Insufferable turian.

**.~'*'~.**

Alien.

This was about the first thought that came to my mind when I stared into the compound eyes, so cold and indifferent, of the corpse that slid to the ground to my feet. Funny, how death hadn't changed them a bit. The business end of my Predator had punched a series of ragged holes through the elongated triangular head, oozing out blood like thick yellowish pus. The insectoid had dropped from Horizon's overcast sky directly in front of me, giving me barely enough time to raise the pistol and pull the trigger.

Adrenaline flooded my body and color was returned to the world. I smelled the rain in the air, the wet grass below my feet. Gunfire and shouts, so crystal clear. In this brief moment I was even able to forgive Cerberus for dragging my rotting ass out of its grave. I was surrounded by death, and yet I felt more _alive_ than ever. Instinctively, I knew food would taste like heaven. And if I had sex right now, it would be rapture. No brawl, no N training, no mock fight could prepare you for this unique feeling, when the thrill of combat was surging to the remotest corners of your self, and you staked out your life, all bets off.

It was a sensation of oneness I was craving for ever since I could remember.

I left the Collector's corpse behind and headed towards a wall that fenced in a square patch of greenery. Suddenly a swarm of those tiny synthetics, the Professor had named "Seeker," bustled up from the red-blossomed scrubs. They buzzed like a miniature tornado around me, their humming loud or better, close enough to make my skin crawl. Then, just as abruptly, they zipped off and I released my breath. At least, the disrupters seemed to work. I spared a glance heavenwards and watched how the blackish cloud sped towards the center of the colony. There - right above the GARDIAN turrets, as if to mock us - an enormous ship hovered; its looming presence intensified even more by the sheer grotesqueness of its look, like merging a gigantic termite hive with a space station.

I tore my gaze away.

So far, so bad.

Our plan was simple. Lawson, Taylor and Massani would circle the colony and approach the GARDIAN from the north east. It left me and Garrus with the honor of keeping an eye out for Jack and Grunt while we moved in from the south. There was no obvious reason for them to cause trouble, but you never know. There were many ways to describe the two, 'mentally stable' was not among them.

The first team to secure the turrets would establish a link to the Normandy and EDI, who would override the flawed calibration sequences, while the second team would keep its guns ready to carve a way out if needed. Simple enough, it might even work after the first enemy contact.

Suddenly Jack shouted. "Watch out! There are… zombies coming from the left!"

_Zombies? What…_

Through my radio I heard a muttered turian curse. "Oh, c'mon, this must be a bad joke…"

Ten yards ahead, Grunt readied his shotgun and exchanged a glance with the biotic, who was covered in a blue sheen head to toe. They looked as exhilarated as two rabid sharks about to tear into a colony of baby seals – but yeah, who was I to judge?

And then an all too familiar humanoid nightmare broke free from its cover, 25 yards ahead.

Oh, hell. No.

Husks.

In macabre fascination I watched how the incarnation of my worst speculations ran across the short clipped lawn with jerky, inhuman motions and the last bit of hope shattered like a set of filigree crystal glasses kicked out the window. Until now a small part of me had been hoping, that for once - just once - things weren't as bad as they seemed. I was wrong.

Ah, do you remember that middle-finger-shaped cloud? I think I just spotted as it agglomerated spontaneously right above my head.

A group of three monsters broke off and scrambled towards my position and a sphere of trapped lightning sprang into life above my left palm. I threw it into the oncoming Husks, raising my gun. The trigger clacked three times and… they wouldn't go down. Vexed, I kept firing until the prehistoric cooling system they sold me as high-tech, put a short and abrupt end to my bullet parade. Just as the last husk hurled itself over the wall to get me.

To hell with it.

I dropped the gun and snatched my combat knife out of its sheath on my thigh. A conglomerate of Reaper tech, teeth and claws crashed into me, the momentum toppling us over. I hit the ground back first as I fought to keep the snapping jaws off my face. I inhaled into a cloud of roadkill three days dead but I barely noticed.

And once again the horrid details burned into my mind. The gaunt tech-twisted face. Grey skin pulled taunt, defiled by wounding cable and that eerie bluish Reaper glow. Dead eyes opened up before me like unblinking portals, leading to another world. Where the screams lived. Or went to die. My left arm still pressed against the struggling husk's throat I was unable to look away. Then the inhuman face contorted; the mindless fury of a being bereft of any traces of self-perception and my right hand moved on its own. Unforgiving, my blade bit deeply into the eye socket and annihilated whatever nasty trick had animated this perversion of once human life. My breath came a little ragged and for a brief moment I simply stared at the overcast sky. Fuck me. I would never get used to them. I pulled the knife out and shoved the corpse away, as a shadow fell on me. An armed and winged shadow standing on the narrow wall that had been my cover, seconds ago.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

The Collector turned its head in my direction. It made some eerie, scratchy noises that actually sounded gleeful. Irritation stabbed through me. If this locust believed I was easy meat just because I was lying there like a slug, it would be deeply disappointed. I flicked my wrist and the knife went airborne. Suddenly, a fat hole appeared on the insectoids forehead, perhaps ten inches above the spot where the quivering blade had just carved an additional spiracle. The Collector crumbled like a wet rag and disappeared on the other side of the wall.

Behind me, feet hit the ground with the familiar sound of heavy boots sliding across gravel.

"You alright down there?" My turian wingman asked.

"Sure, just checking out the ground." I said and rolled to the side and into a crouch, snatching up my pistol.

"Found anything interesting?"

With a soft hiss the spent thermo clip dropped to the ground.

"No, but it's hard and dirty," I said and shoved a new clip into the gun.

Suddenly I realized that Garrus was looking funny at me. Oy. Me and my mouth. It must have taken a heroic effort out of him to maintain that straight face, especially considering that he replied with something I could only identify with poorly hidden amusement, "Well, isn't that exactly how we like it?"

Huh? Our banter had never ventured down _there_. It had always been by the book; friendly but never forgetting the invisible line rank had drawn and military drill had ingrained into our bones. Innuendo was dangerous and it usually flew in the face of all authority and seriousness.

Luckily the turian decided not to poach any further in this area. Instead he nudged the dead husk with his foot. "Hmm, is it just me or are they even harder to kill than the last time?"

I wasn't sure when exactly kill-talk had turned into safe-talk, but I jumped at the opening with both feet. "See that ridges on the ribcage? A human body is not supposed to have them. I bet these are implanted platings." I looked at the turian and shrugged. "You're not really surprised, are you?"

A snort was all the answer I got, so I vaulted over the wall to retrieve my knife and did a quick cleanup on the damp grass. Weird alien insect blood had already destroyed my gear once. I was not about to take any chances with my only combat knife.

I gathered my army of four and we ventured deeper into the colony. In the distance, massive gray clouds billowed, building up to a towering dark front that shrouded the light of the pale morning sun rising at the horizon.

A storm was coming.

**.~'*'~.**

Somewhere between the small plaza we faced now, and the indistinctive street canyon we cleared before, I had lost track of my exact body count. Even Garrus had fallen silent, and he rarely missed an opportunity to lighten the mood and brag at least a little about his BC.

We've been here for, what? Two hours? Three? Heaven help us, but there were so many of them. Collectors and husks seemed to crawl out from every slit the maze of buildings provided, completely unhampered by the tropical downpour that hammered down at us. I wiped at my face in a more or less futile attempt to clear my sight. Rivulets ran down from my soaked hair, down my neck and into my armor. Well, at least the rain was finally lessening somewhat.

To my right, Grunt's big paws grabbed a Collector about to lift off at his leg and pulled it down. With a sickening crack, he smashed his forehead against the chitinous carapace of the Collector's face. It crashed to the ground, limbs twitching. It hadn't uttered one sound. The shotgun's thunder ringed my ears but I had already turned and used the small break to advance. I made it a full ten yards before a Collector armed with sniper rifle sent me skittering through drenched grass and mud into another hiding place.

At that speed we would never make it to the GARDIAN, which happened to be right behind the hangar I could make out from here. Just as well it could have been on the other side of the solar system.

Worse, an itch had grown between my shoulder blades. There was nothing where I could exactly put my finger on, but something about this colony felt terribly wrong. Something about this warning felt terribly wrong. So far we hadn't encountered one colonist alive.

This wasn't a rescue mission, it was a frigging cleanup commando.

"ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL!"

 _Aww, fuck_. I had just covered next to Jack and our clip stock, as the low emotionless voice reverberated across the plaza once more. Who or whatever this Harbinger was, it seemed impossible to get rid of him. Whenever we killed its current host, it would soon be back, possessed another Collector drone and resumed with sputtering its pretentious threats.

And you know what? Whenever a Collector lit up like a freaked-out Christmas tree, my stomach sunk a little further upon the unpleasant déjà-vu.

"Kill Shepard, but preserve her body!"

_What?_

I shared an alarmed look with Jack, who squatted next to me and pressed a bandage on her right arm. Pink was soaking through the rain-drenched fabric. Underneath, a nasty husk bite decorated her biceps, the latest evidence that her concentration was slowly but surely as frayed as mine. I was so exhausted I couldn't snuff out a candle with my biotics. She released her arm and snatched up her Katana shotgun, fierce eyes daring me to comment.

"Is that a new line?" The biotic asked with her usual indifference but I spotted a decidedly worried edge in her soured expression, too. Great. Fantastic. The bastard had managed to creep out my homicidal maniac.

"Yep. Before we had, 'knowing pain, anguish, death,' and various suggestions that we better should surrender right now, because hiding is a futile waste of time. Didn't specify if ours or its, though." I said through clenched teeth.

"Shepard. Destroying this vessel gains you nothing."

"I beg to differ. It pleases me greatly to kill your ugly ass over and over again!" I shouted, emptying my clip into the glowing body. It was nothing but a mean to hide something entirely different.

Fear.

Deep down the thing filled me with a silent dread. The Sovereign had also been in control of Saren. Of his mind _and_ his body. I could do my maths, which meant we were in even deeper shit than we thought.

_They know your name! The Reapers know your frigging NAME!_

Before the notion had a chance to manifest further and drag me under, I killed it with the fastest mean I had. I thought of the Husks. Of the abducted colonists. The families. The children. The dead. Hot anger churned inside me, burning away my fear as a small controlled fire ate its way through the grip I had on my emotions. Fury lingered on the outskirts, waving at me to draw my attention.

Oh yeah. Harbinger _would_ feel pain before the end.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

I took the staircase that ran along the outside wall of a building two steps at one time and pulled myself up to the flat roof. I would be exposed to enemies from above, but it couldn't be helped. This was the only position that provided an overview of the whole plaza. The rain had stopped and in the distance I could see the outskirts of the jungle that hugged the flanks of the colony. It reminded me unpleasantly of my first survival training with the military, dropped off in one of Palaven's wild forests, with nothing but a canteen and a knife. Turian boot camp was hell, but it made for damn hard soldiers. When I came out that blasted forest four weeks later I wasn't a kid anymore. The experience hadn't made me exactly fond of jungles. Or insects.

"This is ridiculous," Shepard's voice cracked through my headset and I picked out the next enemy to fall to my Mantis. Collector's version of a sniper. Mind drifting in emptiness, I aimed and shot. Dark yellow liquid sprayed from the Collector's head as it fell. She resumed, "It can't be that hard to make it across this friggin' plaza, for fuck's sake! Jack? Anymore clips?"

And in a nutshell, that was _exactly_ the problem. We were pinned down, with our destination just a few hundred yards ahead. The Collectors were sending enforcement troops too fast; we barely kept them from pushing us back.

A dull, pulsing ache had built up in my right shoulder and I swapped the Mantis to the left. It would screw with my accuracy, but there was nothing to be done about it. Despite the armor, I started to feel each recoil of the rifle keenly. I took a moment to relax my sore muscles. Still, after days of kicking my heels it was… contenting to be back in the field again.

Through my scope, I watched Jack tossing a few heat sinks behind in the Commander's direction.

Remarkable. Dozens of times I had seen it work and it still amazed me how easily people would follow Shepard's lead. Over the years I had met many leaders; commanders, generals, Primarchs. Neither had been like her - leading by simply pulling those around her along with her drive and her unconditional will to fight for her cause to the very end. Be it so that a stranger could bury the body of his mate, or hunting a rogue Spectre once across the galaxy...

I dropped the though and resumed clearing the perimeter from my elevated position. Thinking too much about the Commander and the latest changes in her harbored its own pitfalls.

Ahead of the two women Grunt wreaked havoc; showing each Collector, husk and whatever abnormality they threw at us, what it meant to be the vent of overbred krogan battle fury. It gave those two time for a much needed breather, but I wasn't sure if it would do for much longer. Shepard was exhausted, and so was Jack, as impossible as it had seemed at first. Their biotic attacks had since long lost much of their initial fervor and Shepard's had stopped entirely. Being a biotic gave you an invaluable edge in short skirmishes. In long, static battles it became your biggest liability. Back on Omega, I had spent many evenings with Monteague, planning strategies on how to use his 'gift,' as the human called it, to our best advance. Handling that much power was strenuous. Forcing it to your bidding was even worse. Under spray and without rest a biotic would drain thrice as fast as any ordinary soldier.

We had to break through soon or we would be overrun long before the sun reached its zenith.

"Any news from the other team?" I asked Shepard and felled two husks running in her direction while she reloaded her weapon. "Can they bypass the GARDIAN and cut at the flanks of the Collectors' reinforcements?"

"Negative. At first they gained ground, but now they're bottled up as well. Miranda said they found a group of colonists who escaped the attack…" She sighed in a mixture of vexation and dull resignation. "They must be protected."

I perfectly understood. She _could_ order Lawson and her team to hit at the supplying troops and provide us with the opportunity to reach the GARDIAN that much faster. And to strike directly at the Collectors' ship. And it would condemn this group of colonist to their certain deaths.

A life sacrificed here, ten saved elsewhere. Your choice and the price of being in command - a price, I had sworn in another life never having to pay…

"We can make it without them," I said, trying to sound optimistic. Not easy, since the last remnants of optimism had abandoned me two blocks ago. "Look, seems they're actually retrea…"

Suddenly, the sky darkened and I dropped flat to the roof. "Heads up!" I shouted. "Enemy inbound from above!"

"Oh, screw me," came Shepard's exasperated outcry through the radio. "What the hell is this now?"

**.~'*'~.**

The plaza had erupted into pandemonium. Everyone and everything was shooting for all their worth. Collectors at humans. Humans at the huge floating monstrosity that inhabited the center of the plaza. Krogan at everything on the move. The huge thing looked like it was built out of husks. A random collection mangled and stapled together, then forced into a metallic carapace.

 _Revolting, but clever,_ the impassive soldier in me stated _. Get a monster and stagger hostile forces with nausea at one shot._

I ran towards the center of the fight, and saw Jack on the left, backed against the wall of a building, a group of husks closing in on her from the one side, a Collector from the other. I turned to the side. The Collector saw me and fired. I dodged and my shields deflected bullets. Jack howled in fury. I accelerated. The Collector's weapon clicked empty and I vaulted over the obstacle that separated us. Too close for my rifle. My tactical knife ripped through chitinous skin and bit into a shoulder socket until it met resistance. Bones? How strange. The Collector's arm went limp and dropped the biomechanical-looking weapon. I slashed again, severed muscles cords and sinews. The Collector remained upright for a few seconds longer, as if its body had failed to notice what happened. Then the half-detached head sagged to the side and the insectoid fell.

I closed the short distance to the convict who was fighting the last husk. She smashed her elbow into its twisted face, it staggered back and the Katana roared. Black blood sprayed her. She grinned and it was diabolic.

"You took your sweet bloody time coming down here."

I opened my mouth and a deafening drone rung the air. One moment later an enormous shockwave followed suit and ripped away my footing. I curled up to reduce the impact and rolled off, my damaged shoulder a mass of pain. From my right Jack cursed and staggered to her feet, kicking against the dead husk that had cushioned her fall. I pulled myself up. My right arm felt numbed. I locked my jaws and I rolled my shoulder slowly. The half-way dislocated joint popped back. I would _not_ yell.

"Everyone alright?" Shepard asked through the radio. It was met with three different versions of a 'yes'.

"Okay. Show'em hell!"

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

In the stories it was always so goddamn easy.

You rushed in, bashed a few heads, shot around wildly, threw in a menacing snarl to spice things up - and _Bam!_ all baddies dead; all innocents saved. The reality though… it's more like running from one clusterfuck to the next, while the realization slowly dawns on you that despite all your bullet dodging, you're _still_ riding to hell in that little hand basket.

After the gigantic piece of junk had killed most of its own minions with a shockwave, it had been almost ridiculously easy to dispatch the flying abomination and power up the GARDIAN cannons.

And despite all our efforts, the Collectors escaped.

All for nothing…

Frustrated, I tore my gaze away from the vanishing ship, just to watch the remaining colonists picking their way towards us. Their forlorn looks were like needles pricking directly into my soul.

I wouldn't lose sleep about those I killed - not anymore. But those I failed to save? They were a different story.

At least Miranda and the rest of her team seemed unharmed. She waved at me, then she and Taylor ushered the colonists to the side, most of them simply slumping to the ground. The day's events had devastated them. Massani and a forth soldier walked over to us. It was… _Kaidan?_ All of a sudden I felt dumbstruck. What the hell was _he_ doing here?

"Ivy?"

I flinched at the way he said my name, hating myself for the tiny shiver of warmth the tender note in his voice still managed to evoke in me.

"You're… alive…" the dark-haired Alliance soldier, and my yearlong comrade-in-arms, resumed disbelievingly and stretched out his hand to touch my arm. I fought the impulse to pull away and let him. Our relation had always been… difficult. And I mean not in some pathetic ex-lover kind of way, but in that really screw-up one. Before I had the chance to reply, he plowed onwards like a tank. As usual.

"Why haven't you told me? I thought you were dead! Dead! _Cerberus_ ," he spat out the word and pointed at Lawson and Taylor, "claimed you came with them…"

I gritted my teeth. Of course. Cerberus. He hadn't seen me in over two years; years I had spent as fucking far away from the living world as one could possibly be, and this was all I got. Figures.

I unlocked my jaws, ignoring the painful jab that rose somewhere in my chest. "Yes, but it's not-"

"So it is true, then…" he said flatly. "You're one of _them_ now! How can you brush aside all the things we've seen? What they did to Rear Admiral Kahoku? Akuze?"

"What? No! Listen, Kaidan, this isn't like you thi-"

"You betrayed us! After everything the Alliance did for you…"

I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. Once again his refusal to look past his preconceived opinions was driving us apart but the man who had been my friend, my _only_ friend, almost from the very day I entered the Alliance just kept staring at me, his whiskey-colored eyes full of disappointment. It stung. As if someone was slowly shoving a hot knife between my ribs.

Too close. I had allowed him to come too close and now I was paying the price for my stupidity.

"All the years…" I began softly and for his ears alone. "All the things we've been through together... They just mean nothing... God fucking damn it, Kaidan! I should have earned your trust by now, or at least the chance to explain, but no! You know me better than everyone else and you still don't hesitate for one fucking heartbeat before you decide to screw me over."

Something like guilt flittered across his face. Until he set his jaw and his expression shifted into the same old stubbornness I knew so well. "Explain? You can't explain this. You can only make excuses…"

For a moment I squeezed my eyes shut. It was useless. He would not listen. He _would not_ listen. I felt the rage boiling inside me like a savage beast just begging for a chance to break free. And here I believed I had after all these years finally buried Ivy and her destructive feelings too deeply to cause any more harm.

Wrong. So terribly wrong.

The tiny cracks in the once so thick and all-smothering layer of the dutiful commander grew a new set of spidery fissures as the furious need to simply beat the explanation into him became an almost overpowering force. My feet moved on their own. Hurt. Oh, he would hurt. As much as I did. And then some.

 _No!_ A small voice shouted in the back of my head. _Don't. Lose. Control!_

Kaidan had retreated a few steps and was watching me carefully, tiny blue flashes dancing treacherously around his fingers.

_So that's where we stand then, huh?_

Ever so slowly I unclenched my fists, bit by bit forcing all the churning feelings back into their little box and sunk it to the bottom of the dark sea my soul had become. I waited until there was nothing but the soft burning ache of sadness and deprival. This was familiar; I could deal with it. Later.

Commander Shepard had to function. She couldn't afford to be thrown off by such petty issues. I steeled my voice and said loud enough for the others to hear,

"Lieutenant Alenko, I'm sorry you feel this way, and I'm even sorrier that you allow your suspicions to override your better experiences. But we know that's nothing new to you, isn't it? Also, I officially apologize to you and all inhabitants of the colony Horizon that the Normandy SR-2 and her team couldn't make it in time to save the abducted colonists. My heart grieves at your loss, but rest assured that we won't stop until the Collectors are brought to justice for their crimes."

I saluted to him and stalked off, back to where my team was waiting.

"Hey," he suddenly shouted. "You can't just walk away!"

_You bet. Just watch me._

"Shepard!"

I flipped him off over my head and kept walking. Not so commander-like, but in this situation probably the safest action. The alternatives were many things I would certainly regret later. I heard him follow. This idiot would simply not stop pushing his luck. Garrus probably realized it as well. He took one look at my face and went over to Kaidan.

"Get out of my way, Vakarian. This is none of your business."

"Maybe. Unfortunately, _you_ completely fail to realize how thin the ice is you're stomping on, and _we_ simply can't afford her getting court-martialed for assaulting Alliance personnel, so... I think this makes it very much of my business."

I stopped listening to them. It was time for me to care for my team and not to pull off any more of my personal drama. Jack seemed three steps shy from passing out, the way she clung to Massani's arm. The merc shot me a worried glance. I opened the communication link to the Normandy.

"Joker, do you copy?" I asked and rubbed my forehead. I was soaked, muddy and really really tired.

"Yes, Commander."

"Get us the hell out of here."


	7. Madness is the beginning, not the end

Every day, I try to run, but in vain  
Anytime I stop, it all starts again  
In the shadows I cast  
Silhouettes of the past  
Every day, I lie and say that I'm cured  
Even though I know they're just empty words  
If there's nowhere to turn  
Am I destined to burn?

Who is  
My salvation  
When  
No one's aware I'm at war

Under this skin  
I feel a stranger, her sadness and her rage  
Under this skin  
I hear her screaming and rattling her cage!

Fight her! Fight it!  
I'm afraid of the dark  
Fight her! Fight it!  
I'm afraid of the dark inside me!

_Beyond the Black – Afraid of the Dark_

* * *

**~ Madness is the beginning, not the end ~**

Darkness.

I was falling through a void so dark that it filled my soul, even to the remotest corners with a stark, primeval fear. It was so quiet. If I hadn't been terrified out of my mind, I'd have certainly savored the peace. As it was though, the blood and my frantic heartbeat pounding in my ears were just feeding my increasing dread. Around me, the biting cold competed with the blackness in sucking the life out of every fiber of my body. My eyes, transfixed on the fractured pieces of my ship falling with me. I tried to take a breath, although I already knew it was futile. It was as if a great weight was pressing down on me, on and on; forcing my lungs into collapse. A stabbing agony arose in my chest, numbing my thoughts with its intensity.

And still I was falling.

Falling through the infinity of space, towards a frozen hell of ice and glaciers. And at the end, the jaws of death gaped open, waiting impassively to swallow my soul. There were no guiding lights; no beneficent goddess, who'd embrace me. Or perhaps my sorry life simply failed to stir their interest. Just me, the cold and an infinity of fear. Death surged over me like a tide of darkest black; crushing my mind, crushing me into nothingness...

_I. Can't. Breathe._

Panting, I sat up with a start, fighting the waves of sheer panic upon reliving my last precious moment before waking in that Cerberus lab: Space diving towards Alchera with my air cut off. I leaned forward and buried my head in my hands, breathing deeply to rein in my galloping pulse. Finally, the anxiety retreated. Agonizingly slow. As if the memories alone weren't bad enough, I died anew in my dreams – every fucking night.

I lifted my head, staring unseeing into the dim of the cabin, infinitely grateful for the faint bluish night lights. There was no such thing as complete darkness on a human ship – at least since someone in an Alliance lab had deducted that it helped tremendously to keep the crews from going postal. And it served as an excellent indicator. If you woke to pitch black dark, you just knew that you and your ship were seriously fucked.

Perspiration coated my body and I pushed the blankets away to get up. I was sooo _not_ about to sleep anytime soon. Bare-footed I padded to the closet and switched the damp chemise with a fresh one, then I rummaged through the clothes until I found some gray sweat pants and a black shirt. I went to the bathroom. The zombie Shepard that watched me from the mirror made me flinch. All my recent sleep had been restless at best and nightmarish at worst, so her eyes were hollow and adored with circles dark and deep as canyons. The thin welts on my face had faded; yet instead the new scratch on my cheek glowered in a deep, angry red. I carefully touched the fringe of the wound, almost expecting the skin to peel off in stripes and reveal rotten flesh held together by tech. With a shiver I chased the image off. I really needed to get my head examined - only that anybody who actually tried would run away screaming.

I washed my face and plastered a band-aid on the gash. My loose hair fell forward, covering most of it. Much better. I stared into the mirror until I was convinced that I wouldn't spook anyone into jumping out the airlock and left my cabin to roam around the Normandy.

Everyone on duty was on the CIC deck. It left the crew deck shadowed and tranquil, as if the Normandy herself was sleeping. I leaned with my back against the counter of the Mess and let the lingering calm enfold me. I had spent so much time on Alliance vessels, that I perfectly understood Tali's wish for a sleeping place where she could hear the engines. There was something profoundly soothing in the faint hum of the systems, like listening to the steady beat of the Normandy's heart.

I took a deep breath. My ship. And just like me it felt… wrong somehow. It wasn't the old Normandy, just as I wasn't the old Shepard anymore. Both had perished and had been resurrected by Cerberus as something mimicking. On the outside I might be 'Shepard,' but deep inside, I felt hollow. Like an empty shell.

_Because Cerberus only restored your body. They couldn't return your soul, you know?_

I shredded the thought and buried its remains.

Ahead, the shutters of the Med Bay were closed. Dr. Chakwas had first stitched Jack up, and then miraculously convinced the ever-pissed biotic to stay put. The good news was that the injury was less grave than it seemed and Jack would be soon ready to fight again. Once, the cold calculation behind that thought would have made me cringe. Now I just tried to learn from my mistakes and move on. The bad news was I had the unpleasant feeling that Horizon was only the beginning…

I sighed. Perhaps I really needed someone to talk things over. I glanced down the aisle at the Main Battery and sighed for a second time. It was selfish and utterly irresponsible to hope that Garrus was troubled by insomnia as well. I just couldn't help the queasy thought that the turian was the only person on that blasted ship I could trust. My initial euphoria about finding Joker and the Doc here had slowly turned into suspicion. I mean, wasn't it all a bit too... convenient?

Sure, the Illusive Man certainly was a manipulative bastard, yet no matter how I twisted and turned it about, the hard fact remained: they _had_ left the Alliance and let themselves be hired by Cerberus. Wouldn't it be naive to an alarming degree if I didn't expect them to have their own little agenda? How far could I _really_ trust them?

Silently I slipped into the room. The lights were dimmed, but I saw his outstretched body on the camp bed on the far end. He had refused the offer of a real bed in the crew quarters, stating that he would prefer privacy to comfort; and somehow I was eerily glad about his decision. I watched him and immediately felt… less alone. It was ridiculous. I had to get away from him before the notion could infest my head with any more nonsense.

I turned to leave and then he said in his slightly rasping voice, "No need to go, Shepard. I'm awake."

I halted in my tracks. Dammit. Apparently my ninja skills fell short just before enabling me to sneak away from his presence.

I went over and dropped down on a crate with tools opposite to his cot. He sat up in his blankets, revealing a dark blue shirt with Haliat Armory's stylized shuriken in the middle. If his shorts had little matching rifles on them? Heaven help me, I had lost my frigging mind.

"You're alright?" he asked concerned and I winced; my hand already halfway up to my cheek to ensure band-aid was still in place.

"Yeah, no, I mean… Just wanted to talk. Divert my mind before it can sprout even more nasty thoughts."

"I see," he said, while slowly rolling first his injured shoulder then his neck. "Though I'm not sure how my twisted sense of humor fits in there, but I'll give it my best shot."

"Believe it or not, it's already working," I said and smiled bravely for proof. "How's the injury?"

"So-so. The pain keeps me awake as well…"

"Can I get you something? Stims? Booze? Asari stripper?"

He chuckled. "No thanks, I'd rather keep my wits with me this time. If I didn't watch out the Commander will lure me again into taking insane chances. Ahh, you're not going to tell her, I've said that?"

"She won't learn anything from me. Scout's honor." I said with a grin and tugged up my knees to sit cross-legged.

"So… why don't you just tell me what's on your mind?"

I looked up.

This was _exactly_ the point, where I should have kept things brief, rattle off my little speech about how much Kaidan had once again managed to annoy me and hop off again. And a few weeks ago I would have certainly done just that. But then… Then I died and I was fighting to catch my balance ever since.

All of a sudden, I was just so tired of it.

Tired of being surrounded by a team and still fighting all my little wars alone.

Tired of keeping strong emotions strictly in check because I was so goddamn afraid of what happened when they broke free.

Tired of pretending that everything was alright, when things were actually as fucking far away from alright as they could possibly be.

So I told what _truly_ was on my mind. And the worst? The moment I started, it was as if someone had opened Pandora's Box, spilling out all of it: my bothers, my worries and, yeah, my fears…

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

Shepard stared at some point beyond my shoulder, chewing on the corner of her lip. Something big was troubling her, and there seemed to be an inner struggle of epic proportions going on if she should tell me about it or not. It was an odd thought. The old Shepard had meticulously avoided giving away any private notions. But, if there had ever been any doubt that this new Shepard was different, it was quenched by the haunted expression that was crossing her shadowed face.

Suddenly she said, "It's just… so frustrating. Cerberus. Horizon. I got a feeling that no matter what, we could have never saved the colony…"

I took a breath and tried to sound reasonable. "That's the trouble with you humans. You just won't accept that as long as you saved one life, your mission was a success. Dearly bought perhaps, but a success nonetheless."

She waved it off with a weak smile. It was an old argument; one we had discussed so many times back on the Normandy that it had already lost most of its fire.

"Well then… we saved more than one this time. And we saved Alenko."

Her face soured. "Yeah, right. What the hell is wrong with that idiot? He of all people should have…" For a moment she looked pained. Then she grew rigid and said flatly. "It doesn't matter anymore. He made his choice and so did I."

I hesitated. I never felt comfortable with poking my nose in other people's relations and if the two had indeed that kind of "history" as Tali had always claimed, I liked it even less and yet… I had seen the hurt Alenko caused her with his reaction and it galled me on some primal level. I forced my next words out, anyway.

"Perhaps, you shouldn't be too hard on him. He was in charge of the colonists' security and all he could do was watching how the Collectors harvested the colony empty. Then he saw you… and well… he hadn't taken your death lightly. None of us had, but he especially."

The skin on her nose wrinkled. "Oh, spare me. Now you make me feel sorry for him. On which side are you actually, Vakarian?"

"On yours," I replied with a shrug.

"Aha. Just checking." After a moment of silence she added more serious. "There is something that's bothering me. The Collectors' previous target was Freedom's Progress and there are other colonies nearby that would have been a much easier pick. So why Horizon? And how could Cerberus know? I called the Illusive Man out on it and he told me flat out that 'certain intel was released into the right channels'."

"He _baited_ them there?"

She nodded grimly. "And it's getting even better – do you know which intel he sold to the Shadow Broker? Kaidan. He spread the knowledge that Kaidan was there and, _bam_ , the Collectors came. Coincidence? I don't think so. Remember what Miranda said about that deal between the Shadow Broker and the Collector two years back? Well, I pressed her on it and she reluctantly admitted what the deal was about and guess what? The Collectors tried to acquire my corpse. First the Normandy, now Horizon… They're targeting us. Why Garrus? Why would a Collector even care about my existence? And then there is this Harbinger…" She held her breath.

"… and the Husks…" I added and we shared a grave look. It was one thing to suspect the worst and quite another to see it confirmed.

"Yes. I think at some point the Sovereign made contact with its kind and shared the intel it had learned so far. I can't think of any other explanation. Harbinger seems to control the Collectors in pretty much the same way the Sovereign controlled Saren and the geth. And it knows too many specifics, about me, about all of us…"

"So, it's another Reaper and it has taken a personal interest in us. Well, can't say I expected anything less," I said dryly.

"Ever the optimist, huh?"

I shrugged. "You know me, I always plan for the worst – there's actually a chance I might get pleasantly surprised then."

"Right." She tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, as if to find some answers. There were none, I had checked already. The silence stretched on and I watched her still wringing with herself. What _had_ brought her down here?

"It's strange…" Shepard began softly; then sat up straight and turned to me once more. "Dying. Get resurrected. I always tell myself not to give a damn about the how and move on. Just shut up and take the chance to live and fight another day. But… there are those moments when it all seems so unreal that I think I'm merely trapped in a nightmare that just won't end… And there's more. Look…"

She untangled her legs and stood up, pulling the hem of her shirt high enough to expose the smooth creamy skin of her belly. Then she circled a spot perhaps two inches above her right hip bone with her fingers. Lightly, almost like a caress… and for a moment I struggled with the _other_ image the view suddenly summoned from some darker corner of my mind.

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "The scar from the Thorian… It's gone, but sometimes… it feels like there's still an echo of it in my mind; a trace of the pain that should be there but is not…"

She lowered her shirt again.

"They're all gone. Every damn mark, scar, and even the order of those blasted freckles is not what it used to be. I look into the mirror and all I see is a stranger wearing my face. A runaway Cerberus abomination, defying nature with every breath it takes. But do you know the worst? The worst is that deep down I feel this wrongness in me and I can't help wondering what else they did. What else they changed. How much of being human did they trade away to bring me back? Am I still myself? And what if my free will is nothing but a big fat lie they programmed me to believe…"

Huge eyes, filled with something I could only describe as despair, fastened on me and for a moment I felt completely at loss. Sure, I had seen her in bad moods before, but never like this. Not after Virmire and not even on Feros where she almost bled to death in my arms.

Stripped of all her guards, I found myself no longer confronted with Shepard, the Commander, but Shepard, the Woman; and she was showing me a fragility, I hadn't even known existed. In my head a dozen social conventions told me that such open display of weakness should put me off, but instead…

Before I realized what I was doing, I pushed the blanket aside. Come to think of it I've never been a role model turian, anyway. With wooden legs, I got up and reached for her shoulders. A little awkward I pulled her rigid figure to my chest. Her arms fell to her side and she rested her forehead against my collarbone. There she exhaled slowly; the warmth of her breath pushing through the fabric of my shirt. Under my palms I sensed how her tension drained away. Mine however… There must have been something wrong with the soap she used, because it elicited all kinds of funny notions. I inclined my head a fraction and stopped when my chin brushed the crown of her head.

"Hey now," I started to mumble and dragged my mind away from the idea of burying my nose in her strange human hair. "I think you shouldn't worry too hard about it… See, on Omega I knew right away that it was you. Your gestures, your words; even the way you move about and pat down your weapons – all the same. Your body might be different now, so what? The core which is truly you, is still you. No AI, no wrongness, just plain Shepardness. Maybe it has a little more crazy in it than usual, but I got a feeling we can handle this…"

"Just like always, huh?" she asked against my chest.

"Just like always."

A small chuckle escaped her. "You know, it's hard to believe that I survived the first 29 years of my life without having _you_ watching my sixes…"

I looked down just to find her watching me with a hooded expression. Wherever that previous moment of insecurity had come from, it was gone again. The Commander had taken control once more, locked everything suspicious up, and threw away the keys. Quickly, I released her and she took a few steps back, creating an awkward distance. With me standing there in my shorts. Just… terrific.

"Oh, you're clever, of course you'd manage. Just not as stylish, that's for sure." I said lightly and rubbed my neck. Better to get back on familiar turf quickly.

"Stylish? Nobody with a full deck of cards would put up with this in the first place, and you're here for the _stylishness_?"

"Why Shepard, as you've pointed out so nicely I can hardly be here for the food or the payment."

She shrugged and crossed her arms before her. "Well, you got to see exotic places and meet interesting people."

"I'm curious, is this Alliance recruitment speak for 'end on a toxic planet surrounded by trigger-happy lunatics'?"

"Well, could be worse, couldn't it? I mean as long something nasty doesn't wanna eat you..."

I winced and it was only halfway play. "Right. Why have I bothered to ask?"

She lost some of her mirth and said, "Hey… you know you don't _have_ to be here…"

"What? And miss the chance to bring down another Reaper in some act of great valor and intrepid foolishness? Are you kidding me?" I locked my eyes with hers and turned serious. "Shepard. What I said back on Ilos… I meant every word. I'm in with you to the very end."

She regarded me for long moment. I thought her lips had twitched into a tiny, very female, cryptic smile, but it was gone so quickly I wasn't sure if it had merely been a trick of the light.

"Thank you. For putting up with this crap and everything else."

"Anytime, Shepard. Anytime."

A few minutes later she excused herself and left. I watched her go still trying to figure out what _exactly_ had just happened. Seeking my company in the middle of the night to talk about the fights ahead certainly would have been unusual but it wouldn't have exactly thrown me off. Seeking my company to talk about her fears did. There she stood, baring a piece of her soul for me, and in this brief moment she had managed to push buttons that technically should have been stone-dead to her… before I could reign in my thoughts, a scene played out in front of my mind's eye.

_The hem of her shirt; pulled high enough to expose the smooth creamy skin of her belly. She is circling a spot perhaps two inches above her right hip bone with her fingers; lightly, almost like a caress… Suddenly she looks up at me; and a new predatory glint enters her gaze. Her fingers slide lower and…_

I slammed my mental shields in place and forced the images away. Damn it. What kind of perverted friend was I actually?

I took a slow, controlled breath, then lay down on my cot again and stared at the ceiling. I probably just needed to blow off some steam; work the tension out of my system. The lonely nights on Omega had obviously left me much more desperate than expected…

 _And it was your own choice, remember?_ A small voice inside me stated and suddenly I was confronted with something else entirely - remorse. The eventful days following my exfil from Omega and the almost exhilarating thrill of being once again a part of the Normandy's team had pushed at least those bleak memories to the fringes of my mind; slowly turning the grief into some distant ache.

_Are you already such a cold-blooded bastard that you can't even mourn your friends? Have you cared so little for them? For Mierin?_

Guilt hammered down on me. I didn't resist its blows, but the truth was, things simply wouldn't afflict me as much as they had before. Oh, hurt and anger still kept churning in me whenever I thought about their deaths and how we've been betrayed, yet the almost unbearable shame and hopelessness I had experienced that day facing my own end was gone. It made me feel like I failed them. Not only as their leader but also as their friend.

I pressed the heel of my hands against my eyes. My jaw was hurting like a sonovabitch and from somewhere the grotesque notion arose that I just had to poke with something sharp in there to make it stop. I rolled over to the edge of the folding bed. Not the pinnacle of luxury, but I'd slept a lot worse, especially while campaigning with my unit on some uncharted planet. And it was secluded. In my current state, just the thought of sharing a room with other people, bearing their snores and noises all night long, gave me an even worse headache.

From under the bed I pulled out a box, flipped the lid open and took out the slim orange tablet tube that contained a dozen innocent-looking pills, the Doctor had given me in case of dire need. I'd say fantasizing about ramming my knife into my face counted as an emergency. I shook two pills into my palm and washed them down with a puddle of cold tea. I sat the mug back down to the floor, dimed the lights and buried the uninjured side of my face into the pillow. Slowly, I counted backwards from twenty to zero. When I reached ten, the pressure in my head had lessened. Fast little bastards. Three. The effect of the painkillers kicked in fully and I slipped away into a dreamless sleep.

Mierin's reproachful eyes kept watching me from the recesses of my mind.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

I dreamed.

One moment I had been laying aslant in my criminally decadent bed and the next I was surrounded by naked stone walls, cold and dark. I was in a… dungeon and one of that particularly uninviting sort, say, like the kind of scary underground compound where psychopathic mass murderers chopped up their victims.

A corridor stretched out in front of me, its winding path shrouded in shadows. I looked closer. _Things_ seemed to move in there, stirring against the walls with dry, scraping noises. No frigging way. I turned around and…

Wait.

There was a brush over my awareness followed by a sharp tug... I ignored it and tried to will myself away from this place. I felt it again, stronger. It… compelled me to find it. To my left a flight of stairs leaded downwards and mechanically I followed them to an even murkier corridor. Many passages led away from it, and I picked one aisle at random.

Suddenly the walls started to close in on me, faster and faster, falling on me, threatening to bury me alive! My vision blurred and then I was somewhere else. I saw a heavy iron-clad door. Rough stone scraping my skin. The feel of cold steel around my throat. And above all. Terror. Pain. And rage.

In a blink the impression was gone again. I was back in the aisle.

_What the hell…_

I whirled around. The walls had retreated and looked as solid and unmoving as they had before. I shook off the last remnants of fear.

There. The tug on my awareness was back.

I ventured deeper into the labyrinth.

 


	8. The way of Fate

Am I forced to have any regret  
I've become the lie, Beautiful and free  
In my righteous own mind  
I adore and preach the insanity you gave to me

Sell me to infection, it is only for the weak  
On bleeding knees, I accept my fate

_In Flames - Only For The Weak_

* * *

**~** **The way of Fate ~**

"They did WHAT?" I almost dropped my cup of coffee out of incredulity.

It was five oh three a.m. standard Earth time and aside from the soft clatter of Sergeant Gardner preparing the breakfast for the first shift, the Mess was still empty. So here I sat at the table, my back to the wall separating the room, holding a conversation with the Normandy's AI. Every once in a while I stole a glance at the galley. There just _had_ to be a reason why perfectly good food turned inedible as soon as it went through the Sergeant's hands…

"My apologies, Commander," EDI said, "but you've been officially declared KIA. Since you have no relatives and there was no reported last will, all your possessions had been assigned to the Alliance."

I exhaled with a huff. It wasn't as if I didn't feel a certain gratitude towards the Alliance and especially Anderson; after all they'd kept me from a fate of - how would Jack put it? – ah yes, reigning the streets like a ruthless, evil pirate queen. And yet…

"That's robbery! They friggin' looted me!" I exclaimed and took another sip of my scandalously good coffee, light on the froth and heavy on the cinnamon. Whatever the Mess Sergeant was doing to the food, he operated the caffettiera like a master barista.

"Technically, you _have_ been dead, Shepard. Worldly goods were beyond your solicitudes at that time - aside from the two coins for the Ferryman." The AI replied suspiciously smooth.

"EDI, are you joking about me being dead? What kind of nonsense is my helmsman teaching you up there?"

"I assure you, Flight Lieutenant Moreau's presence does not interfere with my routines."

"Aha. So, you made up the sarcasm all by yourself?"

"Actually, I'm programmed to adapt to the commanding officer..."

I hold up my hands in surrender. No ten days alive again and already I had my hands full with saucy AIs, self-pleased suits, ancient machines with intentions about as wholesome as a Tijuana donkey show and being broke beyond any retrieval. Oh yeah, once again the universe excelled in its most favorite pastime activity: throwing crap at me.

No, I really really didn't want to know what was waiting for us in Nos Astra next. My head dropped and started hitting the table with small precise motions.

"You know, Shepard, I really find it impressing how you manage to create this unique air of rock-solid confidence and excessive optimism…"

I looked up to see a smirking Garrus coming down the aisle and felt my cheeks warming. Oh boy. I couldn't have made any bigger spectacle of myself last night, could I? My head met the hard surface with a final bang and stayed there.

_Nice going, Shepard. Straight into the lake of drama without taking your clothes off first._

Worse, it had felt actually good to trust someone again, if only for a brief moment. Strangely freeing. Great. Here I sat in the middle of my self-imposed emotional wasteland only to realize that despite all my guards something had sneaked in and kicked awake this small treacherous part of me that still longed for proximity... I quenched the notion. That way laid dragons. Lots of them.

"The Alliance confiscated all my belongings; my bank accounts, my pretty little condo, my retirement fund, my… everything." I said to the tabletop; then turned my head slightly to squint at my friend. The turian stood at the Mess' counter, receiving a mug of hot water in which he stirred in a spoonful of dried leafs. Within seconds a familiar scent, remotely resembling roasted cocoa shells mixed with ginger, filled the air.

"Isn't this standard procedure after being, you know… dead…" he trailed off and leaned with his tea against the counter. Just as well. I would have also kept my distance. This was just too embarrassing.

"No shit." I propped myself on my left elbow and grimaced. "But couldn't they've waited with it for fuck's sake? After all, they didn't even bother with recovering my shriveled corpse. They didn't _know_ if I was dead. No, they _assumed_." It sparked my irrational ire anew and I smacked the table with my right palm. Behind the counter Gardner gave a jump and I took a deep, calming breath. What was wrong with me?

"Why shouldn't they?" Garrus raised his tea to his mouth then stopped giving me his version of a curious look, left plate above his eye arched slightly. "Wait. You _are_ aware that after hitting a planet like a falling star, we - the normal people – die, and most important, stay this way?"

I waved his comment away. "Semantics. Besides, I'm as normal as everybody else on this ship." Har-har. I waited for the universe to underline my statement with something dramatic, like sprouting of horns or wings, but mysteriously nothing happened.

"Uhh, right. So… _You_ have a retirement fund?" He started smirking and tried to hide it behind his mug, but I saw it anyway.

I shook my head, wondering when I had actually stopped feeling insulted upon people's obvious disbelief in my ability to make rational and precautionary decisions.

"I had. And yes, it was Anderson's idea. But I guess my chances to reach retiring age and enjoy some sunsets at the beach are nonexistent anyway, so…" I said with a shrug and sipped some more of my coffee.

"Now that you're back, the Alliance could refund it..."

I snorted. "Very funny. Have you ever heard of _any_ governmental organization returning money, they've managed to sink in their teeth? I don't have the time to fill out a hundred-thousand forms and petitions to convince the authorities, I'm not dead." I gave my voice a high pitched note. "Oh no, Commander Shepard, your appearance in person on our premises is _of course_ not a valid proof of you being alive." I sighed dramatically and tapped the table for further emphasis with my index finger. "I tell you, Citadel's red-tape has nothing on Earth's…" Bureaucracy. It just _had_ to be an invention of Satan himself.

Behind his pots, Gardner snickered. "And that, Commander, is exactly why I joined Cerberus…"

"The more I see, the less I can blame you, Sergeant." I said wryly.

"Well, we still could empty Nos Astra's casinos with your luck…" The turian said and fished a bottle from behind the counter to spoil his tea with so much syrup only severely damaged taste buds could justify.

"And get there banned, too? No thanks, I don't need another hysterical Doran chasing me with a shotgun."

"That was quite a sight," Garrus chuckled. "Little angry volus corners guileless human Spectre, accusing her of cheating. And in the meantime, this salarian gambler, Schell, relieved him of thousands and thousands of his beloved credits…"

He had me with that. I cracked up, my bad mood gone. "Yeah, well, my street rep on the Citadel was never the same after that…"

**.~'*'~.**

Half an hour later, I juggled with my second helping of coffee, a cup of black tea - steeped _exactly_ three and a half minutes, no ordinary sugar, thanks, but two pieces of rock candy plus a wa-aafer-thin slice of lemon - and a bowl heaped with things, Gardner thought perfect "for that healthy appetite" of mine, into Miranda's cabin. And here I had believed that boarding a Cerberus ship released me from the claws of paperwork… Well, the Illusive Man had granted us the funds I demanded. In a way. Far would it have been from Cerberus honcho numero uno to pass up the opportunity to make me hop through a few burning hoops. It probably amused him to no end that all kinds of requisitions needed clearance dealt out by some dude sitting in an office cubicle that floated around somewhere within intellectual dark space.

I presented the cup to Miranda with a small flourish. Quite a feat while balancing a bowl on my coffee mug in the other hand. Instead of applause, she eyed me suspiciously. I sighed. Everyone was a critic those days.

"What's this?" she asked and took the tea, wrinkling her delicate, too perfectly shaped nose at it, before arranging the cup on a spot to her left until the saucer fitted the leathery coaster with an exact half an inch's rim.

"The good Mess Sergeant sends your tea," I replied and pushed the office chair facing her to the left with my foot and sprawled down in it. The chair elicited a dangerous groan. Miranda's cheeks colored faintly. Huh?

I raised an eyebrow at her, but before I got the chance to investigate, she said hastily, "Before we start, there's something important you need to know about Project Lazarus..."

"More dramatic revelations? Lemme guess: I'm still dead and this is hell. No, wait. All this resurrection business was a ruse and in truth I'm just the first of an army of evil clones."

She rolled her eyes at me and picked up her tea cup. "Don't be absurd. Our goal had been to bring back _Commander_ Shepard, not some cheap genetic replica that lacks all the memories and experiences that shaped your rather… unique personality. And all of that aside, I highly doubt that an army of two year old toddlers would have been of _any_ help to us..."

Had she just made a _joke_? Certainly the Apocalypse couldn't be far behind.

"So?" I asked and I started to wolf down a spoonful of porridge.

"So when I reached Omega I learned that others were interested in you as well. It was they, not Cerberus, who disrupted the deal between the Shadow Broker and the Collectors by infiltrating the Broker's agents. In fact, we only retrieved you because this fourth fraction _allowed_ us to. It took me some time to convince them of our honesty, but finally they understood that Lazarus had a fair chance of success. That Lazarus was the _only_ option you had left. Dr. T'Soni agreed. She handed us your body…"

I coughed. Oh yeah, nefarious oatmeal porridge was sooo much more tasty if tried to back up into your mouth again.

"I'm sorry, Shepard. I should have been straight with you from the beginning but I was worried it would upset you too much."

"Just do me a favor - stop worrying."

She sighed, setting down the cup. "I know, we hadn't the best start, and to be honest, I can't agree with most of your unorthodox methods but I still _do_ care for your well-being. Okay, let's get over with the reports. What do we need?"

I shook my head at her sudden switch of topic but let it pass. It wasn't as if actually _needed_ to pursue the issue any further. So I said, "First, standard operating supplies; provisions, ammo, some new handguns… I've sent you a list."

She nodded and typed into her console, with small precise motions. Everything about her was so much crispy preciseness, it made my skin crawl. If I was chthonic chaos, she was celestial order. If wasn't our fault, they just antagonized each other by nature.

"Why do we need to see the dry docks?" she then asked.

I shrugged, intent on washing away the funny aftertaste that clung to my breakfast porridge with lots of coffee. "Illium and Omega might not care, but sooner or later we might have to visit the Citadel. I would rather not try to dock there with a huge Cerberus logo on the hull."

"We're not exactly outlawed, Shepard."

And whatever _that_ meant. "Maybe but don't you think it might get us, say, unwanted attention if the Alliance spots a Cerberus ship that looks suspiciously similar to their prestige object and even has the same name?"

She was silent for a moment. "It probably won't harm to be indeed more… circumspect about the ship's origins. What else?"

Here we go. "We should use the opportunity while on Illium to get our hands on a Thanix cannon. I already discussed the details with Garrus. Thanks to EDI's advanced warfare suite we can mount it in no time at all."

Dramatic silence.

"They're still in developmental stage. Installing it on this vessel will violate two dozen security protocols, as you're probably aware," she said, leaning back in her chair, lacing her fingers together.

"I know, I know. Still, it would give us a helluva edge against the Collector's heavy weapons. And we're in desperate need of edges, as _you_ are probably aware…" I said and pointed with my spoon at her.

"Very well, Shepard. That's it?"

"No. We might operate for a long time outside any civilized space with chances that we escape unscathed dropping by the minute. The crew needs diversion."

She arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. "What are you thinking of?"

"More training equipment. Sparing facilities. Video entertainment. Pool billiard. Uno. I don't care what, as long as it keeps everyone nicely busy and content. The last thing we need is the crew to lose it before the real battle has even started."

"Alright. I recap: we need 'authorization for research funds to evaluate possible primary defense system improvements; additional equipment for surveying and controlling the crew's physical and psychical health status;' as well as 'replenishment and reassessing of general supply budget, since team additions proved to be more nourishment and armament intensive than initially anticipated.' Close your mouth, Commander; it makes you look like a moron."

My jaws met with a click. Had the door accidentally led me into an alternate universe? I leaned back in my protesting chair and observed the door. Nope, nothing suspicious to be seen. It was just a door.

"This is not what I expected…" I said slowly.

She sat even more regal in her chair and said with that cool voice bordering out-fleshed arrogance, "There's more to me than this perfect outer shell might let you believe, Shepard."

"You're right. I'm sorry, Miranda. It's just… I hadn't realized that the Blue Fairy already granted you your wish and turned you into a real girl."

She stared at me incredulously and I thought the little vein on her forehead was about to pop. "You think you're so funny…"

"Just stating the truth. There's nothing wrong with some humanness. It would suit you."

"It's not like that. My father…" Her mouth snapped shut and she locked her jaws. A look of genuine pain and insecurity flashed across her face for a second. "I don't want to talk about it. Private issues are subordinate - we have work to do. I hope you don't mind, _Commander_?"

The Lawson Bot was back online and looking about to inflict permanent damage if I wouldn't agree with it. So I simply said, "No, it's fine. Please, go ahead."

If I ever found the idiot, who pinned the sign 'Clinical maniacs and psychopaths welcome here' to my back, I'd shoot him right in the face.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

I leaned against the balustrade framing the visitor's platform near the docks and waited for Shepard getting the Normandy's docking papers cleared. Illium's capital stretched out in front of me, a conglomerate of skyscrapers, towers and thin spires; each a unique architectural mastery made of glass, stone and metal; all designed to blend into one aesthetically whole. The beauty of the city made you almost forget about its corrupted core. Almost.

The sun had already climbed halfway towards its zenith and bathed the deceiving scenery in a soft glow. I turned my head towards the warm rays, enjoying the plain pleasure of doing nothing. Damn, Omega had made me nearly forget how good it felt to stand under a summer sun, breathing in real air. My moment of deep relaxation, however, should be only short-lived.

"Ready to rumble, Officer Vakarian?" Shepard's amused voice drifted over from behind me.

I suppressed a sigh and pushed away from the rail. "I'm a turian, Shepard. We're born ready."

**.~'*'~.**

Our asari friend had risen high since the last time we meet; her success clearly evidenced by the pricey bureau overlooking one of Nos Astra's most important trading hubs. It was as nice an office as they would come, blending state-of-the-art tech with those classy furnishings that probably never got out of style. It even had a massive wooden desk that would make an excellent bullet-catcher - if the office was ever under siege.

Wistfully, I ogled the control panel that regulated the shutters and the temperature and I sighed inwardly. It was hard to say what chilled the air more, the ridiculously cold air-conditioning or the tension coming off the two women in the middle of the room; one a tall asari in a green high-necked dress and the other a pale-haired human wearing a plain black shirt and pants tugged into combat boots. If they remembered my presence they didn't give any sign, both too wrapped up in their argument.

Liara's face twisted. "What do you expect me to do? Drop everything and just leave? Things have changed, while you've been away. There are responsibilities to be taken, obligations to meet. And the Shadow Broker…" Liara inhaled audibly, her nostrils flaring. Suddenly a cold and calculated menace radiated from her.

Had anyone told me two years ago that the reserved and somewhat innocent researcher would exchange her Prothean relics for the bad-ass business of half-truths and almost-lies, I would have laughed the notion off. But now… The shy scientist was gone. In her stead, there was a version of Liara, which seemed to have aged by centuries. More than ever she resembled her mother. Not Benezia, the indoctrinated tool, but Benezia the imperious Matriarch.

"Dammit, Liara!" Shepard cursed but shifted slightly towards a fighting stance.. "What's wrong with you? You _know_ what we're facing!"

The asari hesitated and for the fraction of a moment, I could see some bits of the old Liara peeking through before the thick layer of matriarchal domination smothered them over again. "Yes, I do and I'm sorry. I can't come with you. Not yet. Two years I'm tracking this bastard and I'm this," she gestured with her thumb and her index finger, "close now, Shepard. If I fail… No. I can't fail. Not on this…"

"Alright," Shepard suddenly said and rubbed her forehead. "So... Two years, huh?"

I slipped out of the room, feeling bad for having witnessed the drama and not really knowing why. Damn, this was not how we planned it.

"Why? Why have you done it, Liara?" I heard Shepard ask, but then the door shut behind me, cutting off the conversation.

Outside the ever blue skies of Illium greeted me and I shed off the uneasiness. After spending almost an hour inside it was like walking into wall of heat and I enjoyed every bit of warmth seeping into my skin. Typical asari. 550 days of summer and all they did was complaining about the weather and setting the AC to permafrost.

What now? I checked the time. It was still more than two hours until I needed to get back to the ship. Time enough for… I sent Shepard a quick message that I would return directly to the ship and made my way through the throng of bustling shoppers, willing to spend vast sums of credits on things they didn't need, to the cabs.

The sky cab reached my destination in less than twenty minutes. Perhaps fifteen blocks away from the galaxy's premier stock exchange of intel it was the very opposite to the nice and clean glass palaces housing Nos Astra's army of information brokers. Here, about everything had a run-down look, be it shops, buildings or people. Funny that this district still wasn't even remotely as dangerous as the one I came from.

Despite its illustrious name, the 'Grand Shrine of Athame; Mother Goddess, first among the Seven Archon' was in truth just a two-storied apartment nestled in between a rather unhealthy-looking tattoo studio and a 24-7 drug store – literally, according to the big neon sign promising the guaranteed best Red Sand this side of the Attican Traverse.

I approached the door. Nothing happened. I chuckled and pushed down the handle. The old-fashioned door swung inside and I stepped over the threshold into another world. Nos Astra wasn't older than perhaps five or six centuries and yet this place felt… ancient. Wall lanterns illumined the hall, their light flickering softly almost like flames. Blue-turquoise flames. Floor-long, elaborate tapestries decorated the walls, telling in bright colors about Athame's journeys and the three stages of her life; maiden, matron and matriarch. The sweet scent of burning herbs was thick in the air, leaving me slightly light-headed.

As expected it was a lot cooler than outside, but somehow this coolness felt more… natural. Like the caverns I and my sister had explored as kids when we went to the Cipritinean Sea. For a short moment I almost thought to hear the faint sound of waves crushing against the shore line… I shook my head and my eyes fell on a piece of mural a little off to the right. It showed a stylized version of Athame riding to war on the back of some strangely winged, lizard-like creature, covered with black scales. I never heard that such animals existed on Thessia or anywhere in our galaxy. But it wasn't the flying beast that had caught my attention. It was the figures in the back. Two armed warriors, their helmets bearing a slight resemblance to the Collector drones I'd seen on Horizon. _At what exactly am I looking here?_

I tore my gaze away and went towards the altar at the far end of the room. I wasn't here to gawk at their wallpapers. A life-sized statue of an asari stood beyond the altar, her arms spread out in a welcoming gesture. Her robes were chiseled with great detail, setting off her featureless face all the more. Several vases with fresh cut flowers stood at her feet.

For a religion declared dead a long time ago, this was a pretty well-tended place.

"I wonder what brings a turian to our halls in these strange days..."

I turned to see an asari emerging from a hidden door left of the altar. Her features were concealed by the cowl of her long white robe and she pushed it back to reveal a delicate, almost dollish pale blue face framed by an unadorned metallic circlet that fanned out from her forehead and down her cheeks like wings.

She smiled and added, "Ah, but where are my manners? My name is Teela Na and I welcome you in the name of Athame in our shrine." The asari inclined her head and I saw a long, ragged but faded scar running from her left temple to her jaw. "Please excuse my boldness. The Goddess doesn't receive as many visitors as she had once." Her eyes flickered to my weapons but she said nothing.

I nodded to her, unsure of the correct decorum. And what kind of brute marches into a sanctuary armed to the teeth? "I'm Garrus Vakarian."

"And? Do you believe in fate, Garrus Vakarian?"

"I… Well, actually a friend asked me to bring this here..."

I pulled out the small piece of carved bone and she stepped to take the krogan totem shaped like a fang and covered with tiny runes from my hand. All color seemed to drain from her face and her lips formed a small soundless 'oh'.

"It's has happened then…" Her fingers performed an odd circling gesture and she touched first her lips then her forehead with the pendant. "May you finally find peace in the last embrace of the Goddess, old friend." Her gaze became distant and her voice dropped to a whisper. "The deadliest weapon is the one wielded by the hand of a friend…"

I gave a start. "How…"

The asari wrestled visibly for another moment with her composure. Then she took a deep breath and gave me a sad smile. "…can I know? I would be indeed a poor servant to the goddess of prophecy if I couldn't catch a glimpse of events to come once in a while. The good as well as the bad." She sighed. "Though the latter seems to become more and more common lately… The Goddess knows, it is difficult enough to see anything of use at all. There are so many new variables disturbing the flux of fate, influencing each other and thus creating a myriad of new possible outcomes. Let alone the recent discovery of the humans. Now, they must have caused…" Suddenly she stopped flustered. "Forgive me, please. You are certainly not here to listen to me philosophizing about life and its intricate patterns. I thank you for coming. Although the news is sad, it does bring certainty in these uncertain times..."

"If I may ask… How did you meet Krul? To be honest he never mentioned…" I trailed off, suddenly aware that this might offend the asari.

However she chuckled and rolled her eyes in a very mundane way. "Ever the secretive krogan… I wouldn't be surprised if never wasted one word about us. Very well then. He trusted you enough to send you here, so he surely wouldn't mind if I tell you. About two centuries ago a young krogan arrived on Omega seeking his luck as a mercenary. He had never left Tuchanka before and his head was filled with stories of combats, warlords, honor and glory. However, he had chosen a bad time. The conflict between Aria T'Loak and Grundan Cheron – who was later just known as the Patriarch – escalated. She defeated him and turned him into a trophy, to be presented as the proof of her power. Krul was horrified how a warlord of his own clan could have fallen that far. Bitterly disappointed, he boarded the next vessel that would take him off Omega again. It was a freighter bound for Illium. As fate would have it, among the few passengers was also a novice of Athame, sent to Nos Astra for her further training. On their way the freighter was assailed by pirates. They entered the ship and a fight broke out. The pirates hadn't expected to find passengers, let alone a krogan eager to prove that _he_ was no coward. Just moments before, he had told the novice to hide, but she wouldn't listen. Having no idea of the strength a determined krogan could summon, she feared he would be killed. So she jumped out of her hiding place and toppled a vorcha that was about to stab Krul. Instead the blade cut her; yet the distraction worked, Krul and the crew finally fought the attackers off, and they headed towards Illium once more. What the novice hadn't known was that the blade had been poisoned. The wound infected terribly and her condition grew worse by the hour. And yet… the Goddess was holding her sheltering palm above the young fool. They made it to a hospital in time. And the whole flight to Nos Astra, Krul had sat in the confining cabin and held my hand, begging me not to die because he feared _my_ Goddess would take it amiss that he hadn't protected me better…"

Her fingers that had played with the totem during her story stilled and she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again they glistered but were calm.

"Sometimes I wish the path the Goddess sets for us would be a little less rocky and a little more comprehensible. But that is probably the lesson here…"

Suddenly the asari priestess turned away from me and a second robed figure emerged from the vestry. Teela inclined her head towards the newcomer and said, "Of course, Aludra." Then she faced me again and the second asari joined us. A wide belt that seemed to be woven from spun silver was slung around her waist with numerous tiny ornaments dangling on chains down her side.

Teela said, "The High Priestess thanks you for honoring the wish of Grundan Krul. He was an exceptional krogan and always a loyal friend. She also apologizes that she can't tell you herself but she wants you to know that whenever you seek help, the doors of the Temple are open."

The high priestess smiled up at me with a warm, motherly smile and I had to pull myself together to refrain from staring. I looked into her cowl and probably at the oldest asari I've ever seen. Her skin was of a grayish blue, parched and almost leathery. Deep wrinkles fanned out from the corners of her deep-set, pale eyes and had even taken hold on her forehead.

Asari aged differently. Their enduring, regenerative cellular structure in combination with their slow metabolism provided them with an almost ageless quality to their features. How old could she possibly be?

I realized that her irises weren't pale but glazed over, and yet there was a depth within… Something brushed over my awareness and I felt sad. Their order had survived for millennia and if the Sovereign was right... _Our numbers will darken the sky of every world_.

Suddenly the high priestess' benign expression became alarmed. Her hand darted forward. Long bony fingers grabbed my wrist much firmer than I would have believed possible and she pulled me closer. My gaze shot back to her sightless eyes and…

A pressure in my head. A reddish haze blurring my vision. And then I heard an unfamiliar voice say,

_An ancient presence is stirring. In my dreams I have seen its armies darkening the sky of the worlds. They are coming and they leave nothing but extinction in their wake. But you… You already know…_

More images rushed in. Flesh. Tortured. Deformed. Then torn apart. Fires. Flickering fragments of nightmarish _things_ I couldn't even begin to describe. And behind the red veil of horror I saw the old asari, a single tear running down her face.

 _It is the end of all we know, Garrus Vakarian,_ she said _. We can't see the future anymore because there_ is _no future… But perhaps…_

The visions flickered faster and faster, an infinite torrent hammering down on me; burning its way straight into my core and overloading my mind with the anguish of millennia. With all my strength I fought against the sheer force that threatened to sweep me away. I wanted to claw into my skull; into my brain and rip out the images that just kept flooding in without mercy. Another moment passed. It felt like hours. Bright flashes overlaying the red-tinted horrors. My mind screamed at me to hold on, but the shout distorted into a crescendo of noise roaring in my ears. It wasn't enough. I couldn't…

The images were gone.

Instead Teela's face was hovering above me.

"Are you alright?" she asked concerned and I realized I had dropped to the floor. Slowly I pushed myself up and looked around. The high priestess was nowhere to be seen.

"What… happened?" I asked slowly.

"You passed out for a moment." The asari said remorseful. "I'm so sorry. Aludra… the high priestess is usually very cautious regarding her abilities, and therefore keeps mental contact with non-asari at a minimum. I don't know what caused her to slip but she was highly upset. Please…"

I took Teela's outstretched hand and let her help me up.

"Thank you. I'm fine again. I think." I said, shaking off the last traces of dizziness. Something _had_ happened but I couldn't recall anything between the high priestess grabbing for my hand and waking on the floor. "I better go now. Guess I brought you enough trouble for one day."

She smiled. "Friends are never trouble. May the Goddess always be with you, Garrus Vakarian."

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

By the time I left Liara a dull depression had settled on me and I dragged my way across the plaza that spread out below her office. At least her sources had pointed us to the exact locations of our two targets and we wouldn't waste anymore time tracking them down, small comfort that provided. I felt a faint prickle between my shoulder blades. I didn't look back. Things hadn't turned out nearly as well as I thought and the admittance stung in more ways than wounded pride could be held to account for. I had hoped that she of all people would understand. After all, I was back because of her. And yet she had watched me like a stranger…

 _What did you expect?_ My sardonic self offered _. It's been two years, and she simply moved on. They all moved on. Deal with it!_

My scowl caused a salarian to jump out of the way and I smoothed my features. I needed to stop making the same mistakes over and over again. Hell, it wasn't if I hadn't known that it would come to this eventually. I got attached and they let me down. I knew the pattern by now.

My omni-tool pinged for the fifth time in the last hour and allowed me to shove the bleak thoughts back to the place where they had crawled out. It was getting cramped in there.

It was Miranda again. This time with crew's provisions wish list that consisted basically of requests for skittles, orange juice and chocolate. Apparently my actions this morning had qualified me to exchange lists with her on a regular basis. From here things could only become all seven kinds of crazy.

I tugged up the ill-fitting pants I had borrowed from Kelly and marched back to the docks, not heading for the Normandy but a warehouse huddling against the bureau complex that housed some of Nos Astra's numerous slavers. Or, indentured servitude brokers. A feel of melancholy overcame me as I approached the plain metal doors of the warehouse.

When I started my training at the Vancouver Air Base it had seemed highly unlikely that the Alliance and I suffered each other for too long. The military was a well-oiled machine that simply had no patience for mavericks with the attics to jam every wheel they saw with a stick, and the years I spent surviving in the streets of New York made damn sure to turn me from a scared, lonely kid into a hard-bitten dissident who distrusted all kinds of authority just by principle. But Anderson had somehow believed in me. Through all the additional drill sessions and extra laps I ran in pouring rain and even when he had to call in more than just a few favors to keep me from getting sacked for my insubordinate conduct by the end of the first month. Yet instead of berating me, he had simply sat down and calmly explained that I wasn't a kid anymore and needed to grow up. We both knew that there was no going back for me. So I gritted my teeth and hung on, stubbornly setting my mind on proving that Anderson hadn't been wrong. The more unusual it was when one day the promotion to Rio and the N-program came. Sure, my combat abilities were scoring high enough, but I still felt the years I missed school keenly. I've always had the suspicion that I was merely promoted in the first place because quite a few people up the command chain just couldn't wait to see Anderson's thug fail. The more disgracing, the better. They had been in for a big surprise.

I still never managed to overcome the need to have a fall-back strategy for the Alliance. Even after it was clear that I would likely never use it, over the years the simple knowledge that it did exist had turned into a comforting thought that had pushed me through many lows. So much for getting the street out of the girl.

Nos Astra had been the perfect candidate for my plans back then. Corrupted enough that no one performed serious ID checks and yet far enough civilized that the chances of some ragtag rabble robbing the place or burning it down were close to nil. Too bad they still scanned the stored goods for explosives and firearms. I definitely missed my old Stiletto.

I strode inside where a volus was manning the counter of the self-storage.

"Welcome Earth-clan. How may Festor's Storage and Services help you today?" The clerk said with a heavy breather almost every second word. Then again he seemed to be even rounder than the average volus.

"I need access to my deposit box. You'll find it under Gunn. Allison Gunn," I said with a smile.

As if to steel himself for an especially heroic effort, the volus took a deep breath and typed the name into his data pad. Finally he said, "Ah yes… The prepayment was ten years. You have three point seven years left. Oh…"

"Is there problem?" I asked wincing. Perhaps I had indeed underestimated Nos Astra's penchant for petty crimes.

"No. I just saw that you have taken non-biometrical identification. It is not the recommended choice for long term deposits."

I shrugged. "You never know when you'll lose a finger in my line of business." Or an eye for that matter.

"Yah. I hope you still remember your 20-digit password. Festor's Storage and Services cannot be hold reliable in that case," he finished and pointed at the terminal to my right.

Ten minutes and two failed password attempts later, I hauled a pair of olive drab canvas bags into my cabin. I stored the smaller one in a corner of the closet and threw the bigger one on the bed. There I zipped it open, surprised by the jolt of sentimentality that stabbed through me. Funny, how it happened that my back-up for an Alliance career was now all that was left of my former life. I dug through shirts, pants, underwear, two medi-kits, a wallet with nice asari cash, a sheath bristling with knives and a heavy black leather duster I only bought because it made me look bad-ass, until I finally fished out the ID.

_Allison Gunn, bounty hunter._

I brushed the letters with a chuckle.

Oh yeah, the world had seemed to be a lot easier when surviving the N program was my only issue. I dropped the forged ID on the bed. Too bad the thing was useless inside Citadel space. An ID that would get you through Citadel customs needed above all someone who hacked into their immigration databases and updated the biometric files. Which reduced the number of capable forgers to barely a handful – and, I assure you, none of them operating in ranges the likes of me could afford.

Next came my set of throwing knives, five perfect blades; slim, slightly curved and made from the best asari steel then blackened and matted as not to reflect light. They were also beautiful to look at. Laugh all you want, but a smith who had not decades but centuries to refine her craft was unbeatable. The set had cost me an arm and a leg and the thought that their twin had went down with the old Normandy still made me sick. I pulled one out of its Kevlar sheath and twirled the perfectly balanced blade in my hand a few times before storing them in my armor locker. I could swear I had seen a dartboard in Massani's cabin.

I stuffed the rest of the clothes into the closet and headed to the Comm Room. I still had an assassin and an asari justicar to recruit and woe this wouldn't be the piece of cake the universe owed me.

 


	9. The slow surrender

You look for me Inside the dark  
I am the ocean  
You are the shark  
You hunt me like  
Your last goodbye  
Oh fallen angel  
Of the night

I put my hand against your plastic heart  
No, suicide is not the plan  
Stand far  
Even the stars are trapped inside  
Oh my  
There's nothing left to hide  
There's nothing left to die

_Nostalghia – Plastic Heart_

* * *

**~ The slow surrender ~  
**

The 'no time at all' I had told Shepard turned out to be exactly five days – and most of them were spent with sifting through dubious offers to find a reliable source for a Thanix core. It amazed me how fast working replicas of Council-confiscated Reaper tech had hit the black markets – let alone the alacrity with which my turian fellows offered them to a militant human terrorist organization. Enough money obviously not only opened sealed vaults but also brushed aside the most insurmountable animosities.

"What do you think, EDI?" I mumbled in thoughts, while tapping the Main Battery's console and switching through the rudimentary BIOS they had patched onto the Thanix' main controller. "Shall we set the input in the delta frame to 1 point 76 and run another test routine?"

Reaper tech. Distilled and reverse engineered by some resourceful geeks. Maybe we should be a tad more concerned.

"I recommend stabilizing the amplifiers to match the enhanced voltage in the electro-magnetic buffer zone. The preinstalled subroutines are not devised to detect and balance the power excess as they should."

Vexed I clicked my tongue and adjusted the parameter. Someone whose nick name translated roughly with 'Electron Basher' was just not to be trusted. "Good point, EDI, thank you."

I started the test, relieved when no alerts went off. The systems were stable. Finally. We might still need to calibrate the firing angles for maximum efficiency but at least the liquid core wouldn't clump into a useless chunk of metal as soon as we pushed the trigger. Positive that the thing wouldn't blow up into our faces either, I restarted the system with the new parameters, then left the Main Battery to check once more with Donnelly and Daniels if they pick up any stress peaks in the He3 fusion reactor. Sure, I could have just asked EDI, but in the end the AI was still only a machine. Some of our organic 'magic' was simply beyond her.

Crossing the Mess I nodded towards Miranda and Samara the asari justicar, both chatting softly at the center table. The two aliens leaned over a data pad, their foreheads furrowed. Everyone tried to make the best of the forced shore leave, but the longer we were stuck on Illium, the more the wait grated on all of us, even on our newest team additions. There was no word on the Collectors. No sightings, no traces, nothing. As if a black hole had just opened up and disintegrated them. The silence was worrisome and by far too convenient. The calm before a murderous storm, maybe?

As I waited for the elevator, Shepard's voice drifted over from the Life Support control room, where the drell, Thane Krios - the other addition we picked up on Illium - had put up camp. She seemed amused by something and I strained to follow the snatches of conversation – to no avail. The lift arrived and I chided myself. I should be glad that the Commander was in good mood. She hadn't been since Liara left Illium two days ago without so much as a goodbye.

_Then why is it bothering you?_

I entered the elevator and scowled at its walls. Assassins. Gun-toting prostitutes. Killing was a necessary evil in this world, and not a blasted service, performed at the whim of the highest bid. How could you trust someone like that? And what was it with being terminally ill that turned everything female into a moonstruck girl, anyway?

The doors to the Engineering deck opened and angry shouts yelled through the aisle.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

"Commander? Officer Vakarian requests your immediate presence at Port Cargo." EDI's voice sounded from the blue sphere hovering near the entry of the Life Support.

I stifled a sigh, hoping we hadn't run into a problem with our new armament. The longer we sat here doing nothing, the twitchier everyone got. Plus, it was forcing me to think about the encrypted message I had received just this morning; the one that ask me to stroll straight into the lion's den. Hell, I would have given anything for just the whiff of a rumor about the Collectors I could chase down instead…

"Ah, if you will excuse me, Thane…" I said and pushed away from the table; his big black eyes, as unfathomable as two pits of tar, following every of my movements.

"Of course. Thank you for your company. It was a pleasure, as always." The green-skinned humanoid alien said in this raspy voice that always made me think he was drowning and inclined his head gracefully. It seemed weird to label the assassin in those terms, but that was how he did everything. A dancer's liquid grace paired with the rock-steady confidence of someone who probably knew twenty and one ways to kill with a paperclip.

"Sure," I said and fixed a tiny smile on my face.

Alright, I'll give you this - he _was_ a nice guy. If you were willing to look past his slightly archaic demeanor. And the fact that his total recall would never ever allow him to forget _anything,_ let alone the look in the eyes of his wife's murderers as he tortured each of them slowly to death. Oh boy. What was it with me always attracting the mentally derailed?

_And if you dragged your tongue over his skin you would get a buzz like licking a psychoactive toad._

Now, where had _that_ thought come from?

Two minutes later and one deck down, I traced the ruckus there to Cargo. The door slid open, and I jumped to the side, hitting the doorframe hard with my shoulder. One of the Normandy's folding chairs passed me within a few inches and dropped to the floor in a clatter.

Inside unfurled a scene of almost antic drama. Massani and Garrus were vainly trying to talk down Grunt, who was pondering with yet another chair against a sphere of biotic energy hold up by a cursing Jack. Loose poker cards littered the floor. It smelled of spilled alcohol. Pushed against the wall was a suspiciously askew looking camping table. My eyes narrowed. If they made me beg Cerberus procurement for another set of furniture…

"For god's sake," I exclaimed bugged and rubbed my left shoulder. "Don't tell me the walls are already looking funny to you. We haven't even left the docking bay!"

Jack glanced back at me, relief and chagrin battling on her face for dominance. Grunt's head whipped around and the expression on his massive reptilian face shifted until he looked as sourly as if someone had shoved a fistful of rusty nails up his ass. But at least he stopped deforming the innocent chair even further. It sailed crushing into the wall behind Jack, leaving _another_ mark there. I took a deep breath. Okay. Now, I was getting real pissed.

"Well?" I asked when no one felt particularly eager to elaborate. I also threw in some menacing glares for good measure. These had been the good chairs.

"I'm just here for damage limitation," Garrus volunteered with a shrug, then he started to rub his face and I realized the turian was trying to hide his ungodly amusement.

Insane. They were _all_ insane. The Illusive Man had bundled me with a ship full of serial killers, whose mental stability was only acceptable by a very loose definition.

"Dammit," Jack finally snarled, still holding up her field, eyes fixed again on the krogan, "We've been just playing some rounds of Skyllian Five. The krogan was upset that he lost a sure game and I just told him – nicely – to suck it up and chill, but _he_ freaked out at me!"

I arched my eyebrow at her. "Uh-huh." Nicely. My ass.

Then I turned my stare to Grunt, who growled something noncommittal.

"Impressive. Yet not really informative." I said, drumming my fingers on my crossed arms impatiently.

The grizzled mercenary cleared his throat. "What she 'forgot' to mention is that she cheated to win," he said with self-pleased grin and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his pants, rocking slightly on his heels, as if he had just contributed information of inconceivable value.

The ex-convict glared at him. "Do you really think I need tricks to beat the shit out of you, _old man_?"

Massani started to laugh. It was more like a bark. "Princess, one day your delusions will be the bloody end of you!"

Jack dropped the sphere and raced past Grunt. Hell, she almost pushed the krogan out of her way. Poking with her finger at Zaeed's chest, she hissed, "Screw you Massani, you're the right one to talk! And if you ever say that fucking name again…"

He caught her hand then, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Now listen to me, kiddo, you…"

"Not again," Grunt suddenly groaned, holding his head. "Shepard, please, make them stop… The stench of their anger is grating the insides of my skull."

Krogans could _smell_ emotions? I filed the information away for later and shifted my gaze to the two humans, both locked tightly in their struggle for sonic supremacy, shouting profanities and death threats at each other. Violent, foul-mouthed, drinking, gambling idiots. Oh yeah, definitely the ideal company for a young krogan.

Grunt flashed a look of pure desperation at me. Garrus was typing something into his omni-tool and gave me a thumbs-up without breaking eye-contact with his numbers, symbols, or whatever.

_Why me?_

"OUT!" I demanded with all the authority I could muster. Of all the times being unable to shoot laser beams out of my eyes... They felt silent _._ I pointed to the door.

Across from me, Garrus looked up from his omni-tool and said, "Guess, I'm better telling Daniels and Donnelly that things are in hand," and left after the two still cursing idiots. The door closed behind them with a soft hiss.

Grunt scratched his chin, saying, "I don't understand, Shepard. Why do they hate each other at day and then share rooms in the night? Is this normal behavior for mating humans?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Oh yeah, better and better. "It's hard to say what's normal when it comes to... mating. Most people won't know reason if it bites them in the ass then. Regardless of their age or species."

Yep, some expert I was in that area. My body probably had already replaced my sex organs with cup holders.

"So," I began again. "Will you tell me what this is all about?"

Grunt took a shuddering breath. "Shepard, something… is terribly wrong. All drowns in a… hazy fog of war, blood and noise… I couldn't think, I couldn't focus. All I wanted was fight. And kill. Smelling their fear. Tasting their blood…"

Suddenly, a shiver ran over him, seizing his complete body. Roaring in primal fury, he whirled around and slammed his fists against the tank. A neat crack added up to the otherwise unmarred exterior. He looked back at me, eyes lighting up with an unearthly fire. "I don't want this rage, Shepard! It's not mine… it's eating me! WHAT IS THIS?" His closed fists started to shake uncontrollably.

I sprinted over to the source of barely contained fury, never wasting a second thought on the danger emanating from the krogan. I grabbed Grunt's massive head between my hands, applying a circling pressure with my splayed fingers just so, mumbling the soothing words of the relaxation exercise, I had picked up somewhere along my way through the N program. He stiffened and slowly exhaled, the tension draining from him like honey pouring out a comb. Several minutes passed by.

"Better?" I asked, finally releasing him of my grip.

"Yes… I think so."

"Okay. EDI, is there anything on your files matching this?"

"I fear my databases contain no profound knowledge of krogan medical reports." The AI said with the slight undertone of a frustrated huff. Being left in the dark was obviously a great bother to her, too. "However, you have a contact on Tuchanka. Urdnot Wrex might be able to help. Intel identified him as the recent leader of Clan Urdnot."

"Alright. Can you get me a connection?"

"Negative. The Aralakh comm buoy is down again. Three days ago a group of technicians tried to circumvent the new bandwidth choke the Council had imposed on the DMZ. The damage to the buoy was worse than usual. The krogans will need approximately three weeks for the repairs."

Great. Just great. Descending with a freaked out krogan on Tuchanka without warning or wasting my breath telling this obstinate Council-lot how deep in the crapper we all were?

Choices, choices.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

Camp Urdnot was exactly the rubble-strewn misery you would expect to find belowground the galaxy's greatest junkyard.

Still, despite the run-down look of everything that didn't classified as a weapon, the air reeked of discipline. Wrex was running the clans with an iron fist and although most of the krogans looked as if they would love to stake me out into the sun to rot, they _did_ keep their resentment to challenging snarls and angry stares. Remarkable. It seemed as if the old chap liked me a lot more than he let on.

 _Change_ , I mused as I turned my attention back to the grizzled shaman, who had let himself be cajoled into allowing Grunt to perform the Rite of Passage by Shepard. _She brings change to everyone_. Perhaps the Illusive Man wasn't half as bad at this as I thought.

Sure enough, not everyone would accept the change, though.

"Shaman, I will not allow this… this abomination to dishonor our traditions!" A green-skinned krogan joined us and pointed at Grunt, face distorted in disgust.

It was the same I had seen earlier rant at Wrex, oblivious that the old warrior had been napping instead of listening. The shaman was equally unimpressed, never skipping a beat while swinging a crooked, elaborate carved ceremony staff in a slow pattern.

I leaned forward towards Shepard and mumbled, my eyes never leaving the bitchy krogan, "Who's this?"

"Gatatog Uvenk. Clan Chief," she whispered back.

"You're sure? He looks as if he needs both of his hands to find his ass..."

She snickered and the krogan turned towards Shepard, hatred dripping from his eyes.

"And you…" He lowered his head to give her a stare, once again lacking any awareness of the dangerous terrain he was about to cross. "Of course would the genetic filth show up with a human and a turian in tow." He spat to the ground. His ignorance was mind staggering. "His Krantt? Varrenshit. You are unworthy; and after I've crushed you, I will make you my bitch and the turian's skull my chalice..."

Grunt answered with a menacing growl and I shifted my stance, preparing myself for sudden and bloody violence. Though to my surprise the young krogan stayed put and kept watching the Commander for direction. She tensed and even without a visual of her face, I knew her pupils had dilated and her lips were twitching into this malicious little grin. Maybe the danger hadn't passed at all. I wouldn't put it past her to headbutt the clan chief, just to prove a point.

"Yeah, yeah. Promises, promises." The Spectre taunted idly instead, not making any move towards Uvenk.

The clan leader roared in outrage and took one step in her direction. Then another. She still wasn't moving. My fingers twitched to make him stare into the business end of my Carnifex and I forced them into stillness. Pulling a gun surrounded by trigger-happy lizards, just begging for any excuse to make a few bullets ride off with pieces of my brain, wasn't merely defying all reason, it was mind-numbingly stupid.

"That's enough, Uvenk!" The shaman suddenly said, kicking the defiant clan chief's waist with the butt end of his staff. "If you want to have a say in the rituals, shed your name and dig yourself barehanded out of a sealed cavern. Until then, hold your tongue and mind your own business."

"But…"

"I said, enough!" The shaman repeated sharply.

"You will regret this… tank spawn." Uvenk hissed and jostled himself past Grunt, eyes blazing with unspent rage.

The shaman harrumphed. "Bah! I swear, if my brood sister hadn't given birth to his ill-bred father…" He shook his head. "Where have we been? Ah, yes. Remember, you're not supposed to leave until you finished the rite. Now be off. Don't make me regret this, hear you?"

"Shepard, why did you let him just walk off? He insulted us!" Grunt complained when we left the shaman.

"We've been watched…" She said with a scowl and dipped her head towards two sentries chatting in a corner thirty paces away from us. They were armed with sour faces and rifles of a big enough gauge to bring down a grown-up shatha at full run. One might actually have been a M350 salvaged from a gunship. Then her brows smoothed out. "Sometimes it's just not reasonable to make a fuss, okay? Besides, I have a feeling this moron will give us plenty of other chances to ground him."

The young krogan snorted, clearly satisfied with the prospect.

 _Not reasonable? Who the hell are you and what did you do to the Commander?_ I thought drily and followed them back towards the LZ. The back of my head prickled. Krogans were watching us. Many krogans.

Wrex was already waiting for us. Not so reassuring either.

"So the old grump agreed? You're performing the rites?" He asked.

"Yep," Shepard replied. "We want to be on our way as soon as possible."

"Excellent." The battle-scarred krogan said so quickly that I wondered if he was actually a little scared by the prospect of having us stay any longer and pointed towards the krogan manning the ground control. "You. Go and tell Keron to ready a truck NOW. Supplies for two days." The engineer nodded and vanished back into the camp.

"Ahh, we need the shuttle to get us some equipment from the Normandy as well…" I said, neither wanting to go hungry, nor relying on what krogans thought adequate for surviving two days on Tuchanka's surface. They probably loaded the tuck with nothing but guns and ryncol. And krogan Fornax issues that were filled cover to back with things better left unseen.

Wrex nodded. "I thought so. That's why I took the liberty and sent the shuttle off earlier. It's already back at the ship. You just need to call up and order your stuff down."

I observed a slight tightening to the corner of the battlemaster's eyes. Alright. He _was_ trying to get rid of us. But then who could blame him? Things just had the awful tendency to go to hell all guns blazing around the Commander.

"Okay," Shepard said. Then she frowned in suspicion. "No, wait. You sent the shuttle back on the assumption that the Shaman might _possibly_ approve?"

He shrugged with a grin, looking not the least apologetic. "Heh, I trusted you to figure something out. After all, not even the Void was able to contain you, right?"

I couldn't agree more.

**.~'*'~.**

Tuchanka was a planet in ruins.

The air was simmering with heat and each breath brought in a strange tang, a constant reminder of the polluted and toxic environment. Post apocalyptical debris and wasteland stretched as far as the horizon in whichever direction I looked. Patches of dense brownish brushwood was the only disruption of the otherwise bleak vista. In the distance, the skeletonized remains of a city skyline sprawled against a pale but cloudless sky. The gutted out towers seemed to reach towards the heavens in a last defiant stand against the ravages of time and corrosion. In another life it had been huge thriving metropolis. Akazar'e'Kalros Wrex had called it. Loosely translated it meant 'The city in the shadow of Kalros' and I mused if the colorful name derived from one of the krogan's few gods, or just another ruler with too big of an ego.

I got out of our truck, shielding my head with my arm to escape the cloud of dust stirred up by the wheels of our rapidly leaving escort. We had driven to the outskirts of a raised plaza littered with chunks of collapsed statues and worked stones. Here and there scattered columns and steel poles had escaped destruction. It had been a temple in those days of old, when the krogans had been a proud and dignified race, and not just a rabble of berserk savages. Yet whatever grandeur the place once possessed had withered away under the merciless assaults of the acid fallouts a long time ago. No wonder the krogans avoided the surface. It wasn't merely hazardous. It was downright depressing.

My eyes fell on an oddly twisted piece of dead wood, perhaps one and a half pace long. Something just sat not right with it. I edged closer until a heavy hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"Watch it, turian," Grunt said. "These are dangerous. The venom in their teeth can kill before you even feel the bite."

"It's a log," I said slowly, wondering if the krogan had already seen one bottom of a glass too many.

"And do you see trees anywhere?" He returned smugly.

I opened my mouth; then I hesitated. He was right. Sure enough, the log suddenly gave a shake and a huge mouth filled with long pointy teeth gaped open at one end. Lids squinted, once, twice and then three lazy, too intelligent black eyes stared at me. As if deciding that chasing us across the place to get a snack was too much trouble, the log-thing yawned for a second time and trotted off to vanish in the direction we had come from.

I shook my head. "Visit fabulous Tuchanka. Take part in krogan traditions. Get killed by a moldy log that sprouts teeth the size of switchblades. Exotic enough, Shepard?"

The Commander snickered and jumped from the cargo bed, a brown-striped varren, going by the name of Urz, in tow. The former pit champion had been loitering around Camp Urdnot's only serious merchant and for whatever blasted reason the four-legged beast had taken an instant liking in Shepard, and the Commander being the Commander...

Head high and nostrils flaring, Urz assessed the perimeter then snuffled at the trail the camouflaged animal had left.

"Hah, just wait until you've seen their plants," she quipped and grabbed an oblong dark green bag from the truck.

"Yeah, right. Not to forget that Tuchanka's evolution had designed krogans as a prey species for a reason." I rubbed my forehead. Slowly. "Think there's anything on this blasted planet that _won't_ try to eat us?" I asked, watching how a grumbling Grunt was trying to retrieve the ritual equipment from the truck _and_ fending off the varren that now wallowed in the hard caked dirt between the krogan and the passenger's door.

"Uhm, remember the discussion we had with Wrex that something just had to be weird, dangerous or just plain gross and chances were good that Tuchanka had its own version of it as well? A bigger _,_ toxicversion?"

I frowned at her but failed to recall. Grunt took a step to the side and Urz wiggled about to stay in front of the krogan's feet, all the while producing happy little beasty noises.

She took in my cluelessness with a small wave of her hand. "Never mind."

She slung the bag across her back. The top of a thin black construct with a coil and several taut wires protruded above her right shoulder. Suddenly the prospect of a hunt was a damn lot more appealing. Even considering Tuchanka's conditions, machine guns were, well, bad style.

"Is this a bow?"

She nodded. "Military-grade. Officially it came with my first N promotion; actually it was a gift from Anderson. He knew the training helped me to keep my calm under pressure and… wait. You know bows?"

"Please, Shepard. I stem from a species of hunters. What do you think we did before the invention of firearms? Throwing rocks?"

"Ehr..."

I snorted. "Humans. Case rested."

"What are you standing around? We have a rite to perform!" Grunt suddenly exclaimed and rushed past us, slobbering creature hot on his heels and a huge Claymore shotgun in hand. Seemed liked style was about to suffer a painful and very messy death.

I shrugged at Shepard. "For the records: _I_ wanted to buy him lap dances."

"Uh-huh. Because getting laid, solving problems since - oh, that's right: never." She raked her fingers through her hair and tied it back with a red ribbon, the corner of her mouth twitching. "But yeah, turians. Case rested."

"Well... that's provided you do it right, of course." I managed with a wink before bolting after the krogan, leaving for once a surprisingly bemused commander in my wake.

Some minutes later we found Grunt at the elevated part of the temple ruin where the sanctuary had once been. Now a weathered stone altar dominated the scene.

A few paces behind, someone had set up a battered solar-powered console. Grunt hit a few buttons but instead of more helpful insights or canned instructions there was nothing but static noise. Urz sniffed at the edge of the metal construct; then started to leak from both ends. The varren had a professional opinion on the broken tech as well.

Nothing for us to do but go on with the instructions the shaman had given us. Grunt produced a wooden bowl along with a curved ritual dagger out of a leather satchel and placed them on the altar. Tiny symbols were etched into the blade and the handle showed the distinct dark ivory only century-old bone acquired. I looked closer but couldn't see any telling metallic inclusions. Whatever died for its making, it was no turian. Small pleasures and all.

Grunt gave us a serious look. I suspected he wasn't entirely happy about my presence here. Or Urz' who was again off to some mischief behind the pieces of a collapsed column.

But then he surprised me by saying with a grateful nod in my direction, "Thank you. I appreciate… this." Then he handed the dagger to Shepard. "Ready?"

"Ready." With that she sliced the blade across her left palm and made a fist. Red drops started to trickle into the bowl in a slow steady pulse.

She passed me the dagger and said winking, "C'mon, Garrus. No guts, no glory."

Right. What had I gotten myself talked into again? Grunt snorted and I rolled my eyes, nicking my palm. Blood flowed out of the gash. The heavy smell of copper and iron thickened as a trail of my blood ran down the rim of the bowl. I didn't know why, but I expected some reaction upon merging with the human blood. Clogging into an ugly lump, maybe... Instead, the red and the blue simply mingled into a dark, almost black violet at the bottom of the bowl.

Opposite of me Grunt harrumphed in annoyance, then stabbed again at the wound in his palm that had closed before even a drop of his viscous blood had emerged. He finally gave up with his hand, stretched his arm out and sliced the dagger across his wrist, piercing the artery there. Blood welled up, a bright orange stream that stained the ground before he directed the flow into the bowl.

He clasped his hand over the cut and with a solemn voice he chanted the ritual words:

"From ancient times and glories old, birthed into the storm of battle  
Forever bound by blood and steel; to be the sword, to be the shield."

Then he started to shout:

"Child of Vaul; never to yield, for fear is all they hearts will feel!  
By fury unchained, so hear my thunder!

Raise the banners; raise the fists,  
we tear the foes asunder!"

A primeval howl erupted from him, expression filled with a fierce determination. On and on he roared, sending his challenge out into Tuchanka's unforgiving wilderness. Urz jumped out from the ruins and added his high-pitched yowl to the krogan's, creating an oddly harmonizing distortion and inevitably I wondered if this was part of the reason why they two species would always feel connected even while they were busy killing each other.

The krogan's war cry ebbed. Eyes alit, he rummaged through the shaman's bag until he pulled out a small gilded box. He opened it and dropped a brown powder into the bowl, stirring the blood with his finger until it turned into a blackish paste. Grunt motioned me to come closer and with a few rough strokes he added up to my clan markings with blood paint. There was a heavy feeling of meaning to it. Not only because the krogan was invading my personal space but more so because of the gesture's significance behind it, sealing a ritual that predated even the destruction of Tuchanka's surface. A sign of trust and the commitment to fight alongside each other - the way to swear in a new Krantt. I doubted there were more than a handful of hushed up occasions when a turian had been a part of it. Perhaps none.

I turned to Shepard and she held up the bowl. A loose strand of pale hair had fallen forward and I carefully pushed it back behind her ear, before dipping my thumbs into the bloody paste and cupping her face lightly with my fingers to turn it up. The alien texture of her skin tingled in the tips of my fingers and she stiffened ever so slightly, the moment stretching infinitely to give way to a new intriguing and thrilling tension that simply _should_ _not_ have been here. Black-rimmed eyes just as green and unfathomable as the Cipritinean Sea never ceased watching me, and all of a sudden it was as if I was back on Omega, wounded and defeated. Dying, while happily drowning in the green depths before me…

_Garrus. Stay with me, okay?_

I jolted back to reality and hastened to apply the prepared blood with my thumbs; a quick symmetrical motion from the bridge of her nose, along her cheekbone up to the hairline. In reflex I added a second set of marks and blinked. There in stark contrast to her pale skin, blazed the black counterpart to turian clan markings. Sure, the edges were less sharp, the angles a little different but the pattern was the same.

Mine.

_Damn it, Vakarian. What do you think you're doing?_

This was a stupid and dangerous place to poach, yet before I could do something about it, the human Spectre pulled away with an unreadable expression. Her finger stirred in the bowl for another moment. Then she turned to Grunt, her lips quirked into an evil smile and once again I was caught off-guard by the sheer endless extent of human versatility.

No matter how benign their smiles, how physically inferior their appearance, this wasn't the face of someone harmless. It was the face of a warrior; one no less savage and deadly than our krogan friend. Granted, the Commander always looked martial when geared up for combat. Wearing my markings though…

I looked away, trying very hard to ignore the deeply-troubling sensation of pleasure that warmed my blood.

Betrayed. By my own body and its inability to cope with one tiny moment of insanity.

This was just getting better and better.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

A bog.

Yep, it was a bog.

On Tuchanka, complete with the stench, the humidity and the whole frigging enchilada. Sure, it was most likely the only bog far and few in between, but still. Where were those dipsticks who claimed that the planet was a parched and lifeless steppe?

Fun fact: the nuclear winter that had followed in the wake of the Krogan Wars' apex had only obliterated three-fourth of the planet's flora and fauna. The rest adapted and simply came out more vicious and dangerous than before. Hell, even some of the sparse plants had mutated into carnivorous versions of their former selves, preying on everything that was careless enough to enter their radius.

Oh yeah, I wanted them right here so I could dunk their heads into the brackish soil, we were dragging our asses through. For hours. My initial anticipation had fizzled out very quickly in that foul-smelling hole. Breathing here was even worse than back on the plaza, and a heavy humidity had joined the already hot clime. I tugged back a loose strand of my dampened hair and exhaled slowly. Sweat ran down my face, smearing the caked blood. I heroically tried to ignore my itching skin and failed.

At least our attack varren was enjoying himself. Utterly uncaring about the depressing view of hunched over brushes and trees more grey and brown than green, Urz plowed happily through the swamp next to me. Then as if following a sudden inspiration he bolted off into the direction Grunt had taken to scout. The young krogan had claimed our smelled would drive off the game, but I had my serious doubts that anything lived here aside from mosquitoes the size of crickets. This wasn't going so well. Perhaps Grunt was just rushing ahead in a desperate attempt to stumble across a pack of hungry... whatever.

Behind me an equally sobered Garrus brought up the rear, muttering under his breath, "Why? Why do we never go anywhere nice?"

I just sighed and took a sip of water from my canteen to wash down the sulfuric stench in the air. Tragically, somewhere between Noveria and Ilos the question had become purely rhetorical. Damn, I really missed those days. Things had been so much less fucked-up then.

"Shepard?"

I turned to find Garrus crouch over a patch of sturdy grass.

Funny how for someone complaining non-stop about being outside, the turian was actually a fairly skilled tracker. Which was our saving grace – because Grunt and I really really didn't know squat. Okeer hadn't found it necessary to teach the krogan anything besides warfare studded with weird ideas of omnipotence and me, well… I grew up in the underbelly of the East Cost's biggest metropolis; I was at home among skyscrapers, dirty alleys and crowds of disillusioned people - reading the size and gender of some random animal from a twisted blade of grass, was so far beyond me, I couldn't even see it anymore.

He looked up, sharp teeth exposed in a grin. "Let's find Grunt before he gets lost again. I think I have the trail of something big."

Fifteen minutes later and bow in hand I crept through tough brushes, wincing at every rustle our boots produced.

There. Through the foliage I spotted our prey that looked like picked straight from a bad horror-slash-alien flick. Klixen. Maybe 30 yards away. The oversized bug was busy digging up mud with its forelegs, its deep red chitinous shell glistening wet. A low growl rose from Urz until Grunt dropped his big paw on the varren's head.

The klixen lifted its hideous head, exposing the leathery bladder-like organ that produced the liquid fire in its breath. It also had the unpleasant tendency to explode in your face when gunned at.

Hit the firebag with a broadhead, let the krogan move in and chop up the insect with claws and teeth. Piece of cake.

Moving slowly, I reached over my shoulder and pulled out one of my two dozen carbon fiber arrows. I nocked it and raised the bow, until a hand on my arm and the sense of someone standing very close to my back, stopped me.

"Hey, uhm, may I?" Garrus whispered right into my ear in this low throaty voice. His breath tickled my neck and suddenly a little shiver of delight went through me. Irritated I pushed the insane sensation away. This was wrong on so many levels.

"Sure."

He took bow and arrow, backed off a few steps and gave the compound's string a few probing tugs. Then he placed the arrow and drew the 65 pounds with one fluid motion to his flat nose, wrist twisted just so, his thumb resting below his chin. It looked decidedly odd and then again curiously at ease. He closed his eyes for a moment, standing so utterly still he seemed to have turned into a statue. The poised hunter ready to kill.

And then the string sung. The arrow leapt forward.

It flew true.

I groaned.

Goddammit. Now I would _never_ hear the end of it.

**.~'*'~.**

When we returned to the plaza, dusk had started to fall upon us.

The Rite of Passage demanded from each young krogan to bring the proof that he was capable to best Tuchanka's predators and after we had found the klixen, the hunt had turned out not half as bad. Actually, the greatest challenge of the day was the drive back to the temple ruins with 150 pounds of agitated varren fussing on the front seat like an epileptic on bad meds, while a bag with cut off heads spread their odor in the back. Yep, heads. And pieces of heads. And no, I did not know why all the krogans had this unhealthy penchant for skulls, but considering that they were equally obsessed with their genitals I was just thankful we weren't carting a sack full of wieners around.

I was out of the truck even before the wheels stopped completely, and somehow Garrus still had beaten me. Gods, I didn't even want to know how it would smell tomorrow in there. Grunt shooed Urz out and I slammed the door shut behind the varren. On the driver's seat the krogan seemed to argue with himself for a moment, then he got out as well and went to the cargo bed. He pulled out the hind leg of some boar-like creature – only with bronze scales instead of bristles and clearly carnivorous – and tossed it towards Urz who immediately jumped at the piece of meat and dragged it into the ruins. Grunt saw me watching and shrugged.

"I wasn't really hungry. And _you_ won't eat it."

Couldn't was actually the case here, but who was I to argue? "I see," I said not bothering to hide my amusement about the krogan finding an unexpected companion, and jumped off to prepare our camp for the night.

We had loaded the truck with dry scrub and dead wood we savaged from the outskirts of the swamp and with the last rays of the sun gone, we had a decent fire; big enough to keep the dangers lurking in the dark at bay and yet small enough not to draw too much attention. After a quick meal of canned-whatever, Grunt vanished into the ruins. The rite saw for him a night spent in solicitude and contemplation.

I took two field cans from the fire and stirred in different leaves of tea in each. In the early days of hunting Saren it had felt strange that water – in Tali's case purified water actually - was the only thing dextro- and levo-amino based beings could share without provoking troubles. Guess you could get used to about everything.

I poured two cups and slumped down on the ground next to Garrus, who was sitting against a collapsed chuck of stonework, his back to the fire to preserve his night vision. He took the cup with a murmured "thanks" and resumed with his observance of the dark.

I leaned back against the stone and watched the sky.

Tuchanka had no moon, not anymore. The krogans had nuked it in their endless clan struggles some three thousand years ago leaving behind nothing but a ring of debris. And yet… the Milky Way's spiral arm stretched over us in a myriads of stars; a thick band of sparkling crystals made visible only through the absence of other lights.

It was beautiful.

And in midst all this beauty, the Collectors were lurking. Awaiting their orders to attack...

"Missing home?" Garrus suddenly asked and I shied away from the bleak thought.

Home. Where was that actually? The last time I had seen earth was, well, years ago and with my apartment gone… I shook my head. "No. The Normandy is my home now."

She would always be. A tiny smile stole into my face. Somehow the admittance filled me with pride and a deep contentment. The family might be a little crazy but it was a better home than most had. A better home than _I_ ever had.

"What about you?"

"I don't know…" He begun with a sigh. "It's been quite some time since I stayed on Palaven longer than just a few months, and the Citadel? Well, you know how it is…"

"Mhh-hmm," I agreed. I had never felt particularly at home on the Citadel either. No matter what the people built and changed, it was always as if we were intruders merely tolerated by the Keepers, the real denizens of this alien space station, discovered by the asari millennia ago.

"Come to think about it, Omega is the closest thing to home I had in the last ten years. I... well, guess I'm actually missing this blasted space dump…"

"Will you tell me about them?" I asked softly, guessing too well where his thoughts had wandered.

He hesitated. Then, "Sure. We've been eleven. Eleven like-minded people brought together by injustice. Not all were soldiers, but every one of them was a fighter in their own way... There was the core, the ones it all had started with. Sidonis and Mierin, both turian. Sidonis was the first and Mierin, we freed from slavers. After that she refused to leave our side until we taught her to fight and she was 'strong enough to kick their asses back to the bloody hole on Khar'shan they've crawled out'."

"Hell, yeah. I already like her."

He chuckled. "Ah, and then there was Monteague, a human biotic. He was also a brilliant strategist and paranoid to the teeth. Erash, a salarian engineer and Grundan Krul, the most peculiar krogan I've ever met."

"Do tell. How can he possibly be worse than Wrex, king of Crazy?"

"Well… For once he had ties to priestesses of Athame."

"I thought the order doesn't exist anymore?" I asked, recalling bits and pieces of a discussion I had with Liara once.

"Maybe. But I know at least of one shrine that is still active."

"Okay. Krogan with asari temple friends. Unusual, but nothing too weird…"

"He… uhh, never tried to kill me."

I snickered into my tea. "Alright, I give up. No way to beat that one... What about the others?"

"There was Vortash, our batarian procurement specialist. He could get you about anything from Rakhana forged knives to blue prints of Aria's bedroom. Sensat, a salarian and a true genius if it came to explosives; and Butler, his brother. Both were former C-Sec as well and always bitching like two merchants at fish market. Probably that's why Pallin kicked them out in the first place. Then Melanis, an old bounty hunter from Palaven, who was at least telling once a day that after the next gig he would retire to buy an inn. Ripper and Weaver. Two human mercenaries, bounded to each other for almost three decades… The woman was horrible with a needle, but Ripper always insisted that she, and only she, stitched him up again… The man looked as if he had fallen into a shredder."

"That's… either true love or shithouse crazy."

"It's been a damn lot of both, believe me."

He paused and I took another sip of my cooling tea. The temperature of the air had already dropped significantly – for Tuchanka. In New York it would have still been a mild summer night.

Then the turian spoke up once more. "I would have… No, I _had_ trusted each of them with my life. I… I never expected the betrayal to come from within…"

I looked at him startled. Oh no. No wonder it ate him up. And then this small, unsnuffable voice was there, telling me that a great deal of his misery was ultimately my fault. I should have never advised him to stay at C-Sec and do the "right" thing. Hell, I should have never picked him up that day on the Presidium in the first place. But I had, and with it I dragged him down and right into the vortex of chaos my life was.

"What happened…" I asked softly, trying to read something from his face, but there were just shadows.

"One day I investigated a lead that connected the Blood Pack to some recent weapon shipments. It was a setup. I had a bad feeling and returned to my team as fast as possible, but the Blue Suns had already stormed our base. By the time I got there only Mierin was still alive. But I was too late…"

His voice turned flat.

"Bullets had shredded her body so badly the floor was running blue. I've seen many good people die, but this… Shepard, she was so terribly afraid… I held her in my arms and she was crying. Crying and begging me to help her. To save her… I could do nothing."

The image of another girl's broken body flickered on the fringes of my mind like a strange echo to his words. My mental safeguards kicked in and it was gone.

"I'm so sorry…" I whispered, feeling the need to hug myself. Life was a bitch that never played fair. "Was she…" I stopped, biting my lip. "Ah, never mind. It's none of my biz. Just ignore this idiot here."

His breath left him in a long sigh. "To be honest? I was wondering myself lately. Was she a friend? Yes. A lover? No. But she wanted very much to be… I don't know what's worse; that I wasted the chance to find out if I could love her back or the grim satisfaction that making Omega my first priority saved me a lot of pain…"

I mulled it over for a moment, unsure how to react to so much intimate information heaped on me. The darkness helped. God, I really sucked at this. Finally I said, "Does it matter? I mean, you've been with her when she needed you the most. In the end, this should be the only thing that counts..."

"Perhaps…" he said bitterly. "Still, I hope that finding _him_ will silence some of the doubts… Sidonis… He is somewhere out there. Hiding. One day I will find him and then he will pay."

I flinched at the hatred in his words, all too easy remembering the new embittered Garrus I had seen before. The cold-blooded and reckless Garrus that was slowly dying from the inside out. I didn't want this to happen… "Garrus…" I began but he interrupted me.

"Don't, Shepard. Please. It's different from Saleon. This is something that needs to be done. I owe it to my friends..."

He had turned his head to watch me, his eyes catching and reflecting the flickering light from the fire in a way a human's never could. No matter how hard we tried to pretend, there were those distances between us that simply could never be bridged.

"Okay." We would face that beast when it cornered us.

We sat in a comfortable silence, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. I downed the rest of my tea and stared into the night, trying to make out anything in the pitch-black ink. Some nocturnal predator howled in the distance but didn't come nearer. In the camp I heard our attack varren growl in reply, but even Urz was clever enough to stay near the fire. It sizzled and crackled softly as it slowly consumed the dry wood and then the fire sizzled and crackled and… Damn, I was tired.

My eyes closed and my head lolled to the side until it dropped against Garrus' armored shoulder. The contact should have raised my warning flags, but my body was already shutting-down to the numbing peacefulness that rolled over me, catching up with my severe lack of sleep. Despite everything it had been a good day. Normal somehow. It probably didn't bode too well that it needed lots of head-cutting for me to feel normal, huh?

I sensed Garrus stir, but instead of pulling away, he just shifted his shoulder and my head clunked against the collar of his armor. Stupid thing. And why did he have to look so dangerously good with that blasted bow? Losing some of my ever-present tension, I inhaled and the night wind brought the odd sulfuric tang of Tuchanka's air to me. And beneath, his scent.

 _Hot metal_ , I thought. _Iron heated by the sun_. It was a pleasant smell. Comforting and assuring, like the feel of a weapon in my hand. Solid. Male. A single spike of heat stabbed hard into my core and I found myself aching... Aching for… dammit. This grotesque need for proximity was screwing with my head again and I was too worn out to battle it down. Unbidden my thoughts flashed back to that evening before we hit Illium. When for this tiny, ludicrous moment it had been as if his embrace had kept it all from falling into pieces…

It meant nothing.

_Nothing, huh? Then why do you remember? Why can you still feel the tingle of his breath on your neck? And why the hell do you long to feel his hands on your skin again? Why…_

I pushed the irritating questions away. I was just too tired to think clearly.

A big yawn cracked my jaws and Garrus nudged my side.

"You go and sleep, I'll take the first guard."

Sluggishly, I untangled my legs and shuffled towards my sleeping bad. I unbuckled most parts of my armor, kicked my boots off and crawled into my blankets. Eyes already closed, I shoved the Carnifex underneath the edge of my bedroll. I fell asleep combat knife in hand.

Old habits died hard.

**.~'*'~.**

I strayed through corridor after corridor until I finally stood again in front of this iron-clad door. It was the same dream that had troubled me again and again in the past days. Only… something had shifted. Whenever I had reached the door before I had wakened or simply slipped into a lighter dreamless sleep.

Not so now. I eyed the sturdy lock with a faint sense of urgency. This was important somehow, and yet something was already reaching out to wake me. There wasn't much time left.

I drew my gun and fired. A well placed kick and the lock gave out.

I stepped into the cell.

A naked woman sat on the floor, hugging her knees, her back against the wall. Her head hang down, the tangled mess that was her hair caked with dirt and old blood. It fell forward, obscuring her face. Iron shackles clasped around her arms and chained her to the dark stone walls behind. Another chain snaked out from the curtain of hair.

A collar around her neck... My fingers went to my throat on their own. I felt sick.

Suddenly she looked up, face twisted in an angry snarl. A wave of hatred rolled off her and she hurled herself against the shackles, screaming in outrage.

"RELEASE ME!"

I saw the feral light of stark madness glittering in her eyes and it made me step back in horror. I woke with a start, my heart racing in anguish.

The woman had been me.


	10. Slivers

Now we look for something more  
Into the world that we adore  
Reading signs in every scar  
Can't find answer in this way

Now we look for something more  
While the world seems only bored  
Trying to look over the eyes  
We'd find answer in this our resurrection  
 _Tystnaden – Mindrama_

* * *

**~ Slivers ~**

The first pale light of dawn licked the horizon.

No more than a thin line of grey, it inexorably crept upwards to claim the sky from the blackness that veiled the plaza behind me. With the twilight a strange muffled silence had set. No breeze stirring. No leaves rustling. No animals moving. Just dead silence.

I strained my hearing. Was there a faint hum… No. Just my imagination. This total absence of sound was unnerving. Before you knew it, the silence made you itch to shift your feet on the loose gravel, if only to assure yourself that there still _was_ any sound.

Slowly, I rolled my right shoulder and worked out the knots. The pain from Tarak's almost successful attempt to kill me was lessening with each day, but my muscles still felt stiff. Sleep had been too short and too uneasy to provide much rest.

As I watched, a rim of brilliant red pushed itself over the ragged mountain chain that towered in the east, marking the edges of the area influenced by the shroud's immediate stabilizing effects. I took a deep breath, but the acrid smell of burnt sulfur that lingered in the air successfully clogged my nostrils and blocked out all other scents. It was past time we got our asses safely back underground, or better off this contaminated wasteland all together.

I hadn't expected to have the last guard, but when Grunt returned earlier from his night of contemplation - muttering annoyed that he hadn't seen enough battles to fill a whole night with their memories – asking for the first guard, I accepted. The nights on Tuchanka were short this far up north, so there was no point in disturbing Shepard's sleep as well just to set up a third shift. And well, the Doctor constantly complained that she wasn't sleeping enough, anyway. Besides I enjoyed having the guard before dawn. There was something utterly peaceful about watching the world to wake; a sense of a primal rightness hard to find anywhere without going through a great deal of trouble first.

It would have been pleasant, if not… if not for this blasted silence. I could remember that I had felt it on Invictus too, and a few moments later we got caught in an ambush that not only left two-thirds of my squad dead, but also made me learn the painful truth of a saying I once heard from a short, black-haired Alliance soldier with tilted eyes: Death is lighter than a feather; duty heavier as a mountain. Funny how it turned out that of all things a human proverb fitted turian ethics to a t…

_Focus, soldier._

Yes. I needed to focus. Jumping at shadows would gain us...

I froze. Through the soles of my boots I felt a faint humming. It seemed to come from the earth directly below me. Not my imagination then. I stooped down, stripped off a glove and touched the sandy ground. It was still warm from yesterday's heat. As if on command the earth vibrated again, sending soft ripples through the soil. This time though, it was answered by a low rumble, coming from the direction of the mountains. Earthquake? I squinted towards the mountains but there was nothing to be seen.

I got up and sprinted back the few hundred paces back to the camp. The hum became a rhythmic pulse. I was beginning to have a really really bad feeling about this.

When I reached the site, Grunt had just kicked out the fire and started tossing our equipment into the truck. Urz was having an agitated fit, clearly torn between running off and staying to guard his new pack. Shepard was stomping into her boots; then buckled the last pieces of her armor back on and looked at me with a frown.

The rumble grew even louder and I paused. It wasn't just louder. It was coming our way. Fast. Definitely not an earthquake. Shepard's eyes went wide. She recognized it too.

"Maw!" she shouted and the earth groaned. The plaza trembled hard enough to make me stumble. Catching my balance, I skittered over gravel and shoot a last longing glance at the truck perhaps twenty paces away from us. With ease Grunt pulled the big metal crate we shipped in from the Normandy from the bed of the truck and hasted back to us. If we drove away _now_ … but I already knew it was too late. I grabbed one of the assault rifles from the ammunition crate and crammed in a heat sink, watching Grunt doing the same. The krogan nodded at me, a dangerous light in his slitted reptile eyes.

"Finally. A worthy foe."

And then the hum stopped and pandemonium erupted.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

_We are fucked. Sooo fucking fucked. Fuck fuck fuck._

I snatched up my bow case from the shaking ground and vaulted behind a piece of collapsed column, the stream of curses repeating in my head over and over. The earth gave way to another gigantic heave and in a spray of dirt a thrasher maw broke to the surface; unleashing its blood curdling battle cry. Fifty yards away from us.

Distantly I heard Garrus curse and Grunt cheer but I just stared transfixed at the oversized worm, feeling trapped. Trapped in a horrible déjà-vu that was uprooting all the dark things I believed to have banished so firmly from my mind. The fear. The anger. The helplessness. And the guilt. It didn't matter that my superiors said I had done as best as I could on Akuze. _I_ knew better. They had died because I had been too weak. Because I had been so goddamn scared of myself that I had let the fear of losing control cripple me.

I shook off the catatonia. This was no other Akuze. This time I was faster. Stronger. Deadlier.

I licked my dry lips and reached out for the power inside me and found… nothing. I tried to force my nerve endings into obedience and ran into an invisible wall. Every time. Dammit!

_You have to let go…_

I couldn't. Too vivid was the memory of the other me, so utterly lost in her raging madness. The grip I had on myself tightened further, squeezing out every emotion but cold determination. I gritted my teeth. She _would not_ consume me.

The arrows… I gave myself a mental slap on the forehead, slung the bow case on my back and darted towards the truck. Behind me Garrus and Grunt started shooting, their gunfire almost drowning the screams of the maw.

I fished a grey metal box from the bed of the truck and crouched down, snapping the lids open. A neat row of five explosive arrows tipped with conical bronze heads sat in the padded box. Krogan napalm. I needed to trade in two bottles of our best asari liquor and a bag of candy before Ratch had even been willing to sell.

I pulled out my bow and stuffed all explosive arrows but one into my bag-slash-quiver. I hefted the last arrow and sprinted across the plaza. They were heavy. I had to get close. Swell.

The krogan and the turian were flanking the maw from two sides and emptying their clips into it. It only seemed to annoy the creature, which was busy dividingits attention between the two soldiers.

"Shepard! Some help here, maybe?" Garrus exclaimed and jumped away from a splash of acid spit.

"I got you covered! Keep moving!" I shouted and raised my bow, pushing the arrow head's tiny splint while nocking. The string sizzled and the arrow hit the maw's plated head. A second arrow followed, the napalm ignited and fire bloomed. The worm screamed, pushing the visible part of its gargantuan body after the turian. It didn't slow. It wasn't working. Heaven help us. The explosives were not working.

I dropped down and ducked behind a small mound of debris. I didn't bother with pulling my Carnifex. It probably wouldn't even graze the worm's thick hide. No, instead I fumbled desperately for my biotics. It was like trying to catch dandelion seeds on high wind.

_And so you will let another team die…_

No. With crystal clarity I realized something: I would do anything to save their lives. If it meant sacrificing myself, so be it. The death grip eased and then a sliver of my awareness brushed the surface of the power residing inside me. Electrical impulses started to fire wildly and I struggled to focus. A dozen needles seemed to prick into my skull. Then hundreds. Thousands. Threatening to fry my brain if I didn't find a vent.

_NOW!_

I forced the energy along the neural paths that had grown through my nervous system even before I was born. Instantly the pain ebbed and the energy balanced in my body, writhing under my skin like an untamed, ravenous beast. Begging to be released.

"Shepard! Watch out!" Grunt shouted and my head whipped around.

All I saw was a cloud of acid coming for me. At the last moment, I established a barrier. A tiny splat still hit my face and I groaned, the skin above my left eye burning like set on fire. The barrier fell and I dove to the side, barely escaping a second acid shower. Sitting up, I slumped against one of the few columns still upright and carefully wiped the spit away with the back of my gloved hand. Dammit, not again. Akuze had also almost cost me an eye.

The gunfire stopped and the ground rumbled. I stiffened. The maw was underground. No way to tell where it would surface... Suddenly Urz galloped in my direction, Grunt following at a run. The varren crashed into me and I ripped up my arm against his attempts to lick my face. Just as I thought to lose my battle against the slobber, the krogan grabbed my upper arm and pulled me upright.

"No time to fade, Battlemaster. You only singed its hide! We need more of these arrows." Grunt said and changed the clip of his Vindicator. The rifle looked almost ridiculously small in his hands.

"Ah… I have three…" I said slowly, trying to locate the maw's position. East I thought.

The krogan harrumphed and the earth started trembling once more.

"Maw to the east!" I heard Garrus suddenly shout and I dashed with Grunt off to the eastern end of the temple ruins. The maw surfaced, but this time I was prepared. Dark energy sprang to life in my hands and I pushed the crude tangle of disruptive spheres forward. The maw raged, instincts driving the worm into an attack frenzy. Like a gigantic coiled cobra it pushed forward into the ruins. Bullets hit, the gunfire from the right closing in on me. Dark-green blood was oozing from the hole I had ripped into the carapace below its head with my biotics. It would never let go of us now. I dodged another acid attack and released a second blast that burst open a large part of the maw's front. I unslung my bow, nocked another arrow and for a moment the universe seemed to hold its breath with me. Twenty yards away the arrow exploded into the open wound below the maw's head and it screeched a loud, high-pitched whistle. The shrill sound reverberated in my head and I doubled over, dropping the bow to clasp my hands over my ears. I screamed; my vision swimming. My ear-drums felt like bursting. I staggered backwards, liquid dripping from my nose.

Suddenly the whistling stopped and I jerked up my head. The maw faltered and I spun around to run my gaze over the damaged ruins for my team. Behind me the maw dropped with a final quake that shook the plaza one last time; my eyes fell on Garrus who jumped down from a pile of debris a few paces away from me - and everything seemed to happen at once: I heard a sickening grating sound; the turian shouted something, face twisted in horror and lunged forward; bumping into me, just as one of the last few remaining columns toppled over and crashed down in a spray of dust. To where I'd been standing just an instant before. Together we hit the ground, his weight knocking the air out of my lungs. The side of my face kissed the ground, leaving a trail of skin on the gravel. The sharp pain made me gasp for breath but all I got was a mouthful of dirt. I tried to cough but couldn't move. My face still pressed against the ground I nudged the turian with my elbow and the weight on me eased. I pushed myself up and sat, taking shuddering breaths between hoarse coughs. I spat out a strand of bloody hair, a taste like old pennies in my mouth. Fuck me. This had been a close one.

"Damn it, Shepard," Garrus said, while sitting up and rubbing his head. A layer of brown dust had settled on his blue and silver-grey armor. "One day…" He looked at me and asked, "Hey, you're alright?"

"I… don't know…" I mumbled, pulling off my glove to touch my cheek. It already felt puffed and my fingers came away bloodied. Bloodied and with black flakes of face paint in it. "Do I look how it feels like?"

"Well, you've certainly been in better shape… But also in worse."

My lips twitched into a smile and I instantly regretted it. Oww. Goddamn ruins. They were a menace. All of them. Just ask Liara.

Slowly he got up, holding out a hand to help me up. I grabbed his hand, giggling in my mind at the curious notion of pulling him down to me instead. Oy. Perhaps I had hit my head a lot harder than I thought.

"Hah!" Grunt exclaimed from behind me, giving me such a hearty clap on the shoulder that it almost sent me sailing back to the ground. "That was something to warm our hearts at night, wasn't it?"

"Visitors," Garrus suddenly stated, looking grim. His hand reached for the rifle on his back.

A group of four krogans strolled towards us from their truck as if they had no care in the world. Peachy. Frigging peachy. Chief Uvenkand the Three Morons.

"What? You don't think they've come to bring ribbons and fruit baskets?" I asked, shifting my stance, Carnifex in hand.

"It seems," Uvenk hissed as he approached, "you survived the Ritual. How… unfortunate."

"Better than surviving." Grunt pointed with his thick thumb behind where the corpse of the maw lay half collapsed between the ruins.

The krogan clan chief looked shocked, his three companions falling in an agitated whisper. To his credit though, Uvenk caught himself quite fast. "Perhaps we need to reassess the situation. Tank spawn, you will need a clan or you will be forever nothing but a worthless abnormity. Gatatog might consider taking you in and this is your first command: kill that scum you drag behind. Refuse and we fed your still twitching bodies to the varrens."

I shrugged at Grunt. "Your call, Grunt."

"Then," he started, while drawing his shotgun, "let them die trying!"

**.~'*'~.**

Guess, what?

When we got back to camp Urdnot, there weren't any ribbons or fruit baskets either. No-ooo, instead someone nearly had kittens.

"You _killed_ the maw?" Wrex exclaimed, his face a study in incredulousness. He all but jumped out of his chair, looking as if he would throw his datapad to the ground and stomp on it any second.

"Uhm… We shouldn't have?" I asked carefully.

He threw up his hands. " _No!_ You ruined a perfectly good ritual! Do you have any idea how long it takes to lure another maw into the area?"

"Woah, nobody told us _not_ to! Heck, nobody even informed us that maws were involved in the first place!"

"That's because no one with a sane mind would even _think_ about killing a maw without proper preparation! On foot! Besides what about the instructions? Have you even bothered to hear them?"

"The console is broken!" I shot back exasperated. This was not fair. First they _wanted_ us to chop off heads, and now they made a fuss? The shaman had seemed pleased. No one berated Grunt.

"Oh. Well," the old krogan said and scratched the scar crossing his face. "That might explain why the last three kids failed. Heh, and I blamed it to them being of Uvenk's rabble."

Ah yes. There was that. "Uh-huh, about Uvenk…"

"What?" He looked at me sharply.

I winced. "Just don't expect him back in the Camp tonight... Or perhaps you better don't expect anything from him at all. Ever." Wrex had started to make tiny suffocating noises and I hastened to add, "Look, he came to the temple and when he saw that Tuchanka hadn't killed us he thought to help her along a bit. What did you expect me to do? Let this cave troll hump our corpses?"

And then I realized he was giggling. Or the krogan equivalent of it at least.

I crossed my arms. "Humor me. Why is this so fucking funny?" I growled and arched my eyebrow at him. The sharp tug spoiled my efforts greatly. Maw spit was a real pain in the ass.

The battlemaster then caught his breath and wiped at the corner of his eyes. "Months, Shepard. For months I was wrecking my brain how I could get rid of him with minimal fuss and without antagonizing the rest of his Clan. Months! And then you suddenly appear out of a clear sky, not only disposing of him, but also riling him so much that he placed his ass in one of the few positions where his death will directly benefit Clan Urdnot."

"How will this benefit your Clan?"

"Why, Shepard, because he shouldn't have attacked you on sacred ground. It gave you all the right for the kill and he greatly debased Clan Gatatog with his actions. I want a fist of their scouts and my Clan needs their farming lands to the South. Thanks to you they will have a very hard time defying me now. I won't be long and the times when Gatatog was rivaling Urdnot's strength are gone forever. Oh, and then there's the maw... I told you I'm going to offer Grunt a place in my clan. If he accepts… well, then Clan Urdnot will have _two_ living warriors who slew a maw during their Rite. That's two more than everybody else has." He finished, looking suspiciously smug.

"And who…" I trailed off. Alright. If Wrex would get any more self-pleased he would probably burst. "You!" I exclaimed, pointing with my finger at the ungodly smirking krogan. "I can't believe it! You set me up! This was a friggin' setup!"

His smirk turned into wheezing laughter. "I'm sorry, Shepard, but your face… Priceless. Makes me almost forgive you for driving the Mako through the relay on Ilos."

I rolled my eyes. "For god's sake, the whole lot of you was yelling like virgins at their sacrifice. Wasn't this punishment enough?"

"Heh! Not even in your wildest dreams..."

I chuckled, watching the other side of the hall, where several krogans clasped arms with Grunt and shared a drink with him. Some even raised their tin mugs towards Garrus who sat on a broken block of concrete observing the going-ons while fussing over his rifle.

"Grunt's a good kid." Wrex suddenly said. "You did well in bringing him here. See that he survives your adventures. You're his battlemaster now. That's a great responsibility."

"Yeah, I know… I promise to do my best to get him back to Tuchanka in one piece."

But somewhere deep down a voice whispered that even my best wouldn't be enough.

"You should prepare for war," I said softly, keeping an eye out in case someone closed in to listen. "I'm convinced the Sovereign said the truth. They _are_ coming."

"How certain and how soon?" Wrex whispered back, his tone dead serious.

"Pretty certain. Cerberus… they stumbled across something and I bet my lily-white ass it's another Reaper. Only this one works through Collectors instead of geth. I don't know how much time we have left but I'm sure it won't be enough." It was never enough.

"Nakmor and Ravanor will stand with Urdnot, no matter the course. And after today it will be easy to pursue Gatatog to do the same. Smaller clans will follow as soon as the banners are raised. The rest will be forced to join then. Give me ten days' notice and I can bring you a dozen battalions with our finest. Give me twenty and I rally you an army unheard of since the dawn of the Rebellions."

I stared at him as open-mouthed as if he had just sprouted wings and took off into the sky.

He snorted. "Why do you think I was in a hurry to get back here? Because I missed the bloody vista?" His gaze got distant. "A taste of war is already in the air; and while the rest of those Citadel morons will still squabble if they should believe your story, the krogans will be ready and face the enemy. Saving their asses again. A fitting end. I wonder if anyone will catch the irony."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, looking old. Then again he _was_ old. He looked me straight in the eyes and under his breath he said bitterly, "We are dying, Shepard. Our numbers dwindle quicker than anticipated. Nobody does realize because we live long, but within one generation our number will have halved. Three more and we will tether on the brink of extinction."

"But I thought…"

"What?" He spat in scorn. "That the genophage is designed to merely cull the surplus? To keep our numbers 'stable'? Varrenshit. Do you know what they do? They simply take away all the ugly truths and leave only neat and clean figures. One in thousand, they say and probably even feel charitable. One in a thousand means that a fertile female could theoretically still produce several hundreds of living offspring in her life time. They calculate that this is more than sufficient and move on. No one of these 'scientists' ever wasted a thought what one in thousand also means: 999 stillbirths. I have seen the pyres burn in the females' camps for days. Tell me, Shepard, you are female - how many times would you endure seeing hundreds of your offspring dead only to hold one tiny squeaking thing in your hands before it would drive you into insanity?"

I didn't know what to respond. There was only one word for it: hell. Wrex just regarded me calmly, taking in my pained expression and after a moment he spoke up again.

"You see… If there is no cure… Then this will be our last battle."

_I have a salarian aboard the Normandy, who was significantly involved in altering the genophage. Yes, your bodies were on the edge of fixing this nightmare. And yes, right now he is sneaking into a Weyrloc facility searching for his former student, who was abducted by Weyrloc Guld and set to find a cure. And yes, he will very likely kill him…_

Secrets within secrets.

If there was an important lesson hidden in it as well, I was just too blind to catch it. I remained silent. The bitter truth was I couldn't afford to divide their attention. We _needed_ the krogans' united strength, and right now their collective struggle for survival was bounding them closer than any alliance ever could. What if a cure scattered them to the four winds? Could I even dare to take that risk? No. I had to do what must be done, even if made me weep inside. I simply couldn't allow myself the luxury of a clear conscience any longer.

_And so their blood will be on your hands as well… How can you live with the knowledge that it was your deliberate decision which denied them even the slightest chance to end their sufferings?_

I had no answers. Only regrets.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

Once again I checked the controls and the calibrations of the Normandy's weapons. Usually the work was familiar and routinely enough to capture my concentration while still allowing my mind to relax. Not so now. The Thanix cannon was the worst diva I ever laid my hands on; demanding each every setting tweaked and calibrated with almost surgical precision. However, as usual for a diva she was stunning by default, but if brought to heel… Then she would be devastating. If. That was the crux. I sprawled on a chair, my legs propped on a crate. I stared at the datapad in my hands. Those results just made no sense. My eyes grew heavy. This was getting tiring. And irritating.

The sound of the door opening pulled me out of the daze. I craned my head to see Shepard striding in. She had been brooding about something since we left Tuchanka this morning and I would bet my right arm that the return of Mordin Solus, from whatever secret mission he had been on, made it even worse.

"Hey, still busy?" she asked surprisingly good-natured and walked over to look over my shoulder at the datapad. What she was trying to learn from the turian glyphs there was beyond me, but her proximity was undeniably pleasant. She smelled of soap and gun oil. It made for an odd but intriguing combination.

"Of necessity," I said quickly. "But I like feel I'm turning in circles for hours." I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand. How late was it?

"I bet…" She said with a small laugh, her breath tickling the side of my neck. I tensed. "So… what about a break?"

I leaned a little to the right and away from her, staring straight ahead. Damn it, why did she have to stand so close? "Sure, what's on your…" I trailed off. Her hands touched my shoulders and slid down my chest. Her face was so near to mine I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin on my cheek. Slivers of heat spread through me, forcing my heart to pound harder.

"So. Wanna play, Vakarian?"

I dropped the datapad. _Spirits, what…_ And then the tip of her tongue licked along my jawline and I lost control…

"OFFICER VAKARIAN!"

I gave a start. The room suddenly spun and me and my chair hit the floor with a crash.

"Are you alright?" EDI asked, sounding concerned. "Your sleep seemed troubled,"

Staring at the Main Battery's ceiling, I shook off the dizziness. Slowly, I untangled myself from the chair and got up, covering my face with my hand. A dream. A blasted dream.

"Yeah… What is it?"

"You requested to be informed immediately when a message with the specified encryption pattern comes in." The AI explained.

"Yes?"

"It is here."

In a perfect universe, I probably would have never gotten this blasted message. Then again, in a perfect universe this message wouldn't have had any reason to exist in the first place...

I grabbed the datapad off the floor and switched it back on.

_Dear Garrus,_

_I knew our meeting was not exactly what Shepard hoped for, but the circumstances neither allowed me to speak more freely nor to show too much sympathy. Nos Astra's eyes and ears lurk in every corner these days. I dare not to imagine what will happen if certain knowledge falls into the wrong hands._

_Please tell Shepard I am truly sorry that other assignments prevent me from fighting at your front right now, but I fear if this threat is not removed it will cause even greater harm in the future. I will try to support you with intel, though. It is the least I can do._

_Also, I have news about the request you sent me earlier. I just received the confirmation that a turian named Lantar Sidonis has passed through Citadel customs 46 days ago. He was seen in the company of someone called 'Fade', a minor racketeer helping people to disappear. I looked into his background but so far I can only confirm reliably that he is human and has ties to C-Sec. I suspect he is either an informant or an officer dishonorably discharged. In any way, he seems to be often seen near the Zakera Ward warehouses. I think he is your best option to find out more about Sidonis' whereabouts._

_Take care,_

_Liara_

Sidonis.

My fingers flexed and a grim smile twisted my face as I recalled every death he had to answer for. Wrex was right. Remembering did keep the anger sharp.

The vengeance would be all the sweeter then.


	11. The price of a decision

Standing tall, denied the fall  
All the lies repeat themselves  
Embrace the challenge, make it your vengeance  
The fate is his to seal

Break through the mask of sin  
It's an act, a senseless play you're in  
Where betrayal leads to the fall  
Be true, face all the sin  
There's a part unknown  
The truth untold  
In might strike back twice as hard

_Trail of Tears – The Feverish Alliance_

* * *

**~ The price of a decision ~**

"Name?"

The turian customs officer in front of me droned with the bored tone usually reserved for soulless hotline operators. To my left Garrus explained something to the asari who manned the other counter, causing her to beam like a nuclear incident. She was aiming it hard for anorexic porn-star, complete with the surgical enhanced rack and the shoddy lipstick job.

"Shepard. Ivy Shepard," I said with a calm, confidence inspiring voice and the officer frowned.

Perhaps I should have also tried it the other way. Like my XO, who leaned with her arms on the counter of a rental beyond the security lock, shamelessly flirting with the clerk for one of the last available skycars, while giving the line behind her something to look at in her short cherry-red jacket and skintight jeans. Miraculously, she _still_ managed to give off that professional vibe.

Idly, I let my fingers play along the collar of my black, calf-long leather coat, shooting the officer a warm smile and a wink.

"You see Officer…" I glanced at the plate. "… Averius, I would really appreciate it if we can make it… quick."

He stared at me… confused? A bit disgusted? Whatever it was, it was about as far away from being intrigued as an amoeba from a space program. I snatched my fingers away from my hem and stifled a frustrated groan. Ah, yes. With my leather coat and sexy bruises, I probably rather looked like I had a few vampires to impale. Together with the gray tank-top, the sturdy black pants and my well used combat boots they made for a dramatic fashion statement, shrouding me in an air of innocent inconspicuousness. Not.

"Ah-hem. Shepard, Ivy," the Officer coughed and repeated slowly as if I was dimwitted. "Arrival at Docking Bay C36. What did you say was the name of the ship you came with?"

Someone please kill me _now_.

"Mandy," I replied strangled. "MSV Mandy."

The object of ridicule. Miranda sooo had it coming. In spades, y'know.

"That's right. You spell it like 'Normandy,'" I then heard Officer Wise-Ass stating from my left with a too smooth chuckle. "Just without 'Nor'."

The asari bobbed her head and giggled. I thought I heard her pea-sized brain rattle like a marble in an empty tin jar. Good god. And now imagine that even someone like her had to hump their way _down_ to get this position and you will feel my misery.

"If you will look here…" my customs officer said slightly annoyed that I wasn't giving him his righteous attention, and I turned with a sigh to face the small drone now hovering before me. Its biometric camera scanned my iris.

The turian cleared his throat. "Ma'am? Ah, I'm terribly sorry but I can't clear you. My files say you're deceased. Corpses and other remains can only be processed at Docking Bay H21 or alternatively G7."

Oy. Hear that? I think we just hit rock bottom. "This might come as some sort of surprise, but you _are_ aware that we are talking. With each other. Right now?"

He shrugged. "Be it as it may, but these are the regulations. No dead beyond this point." He said and pointed ostentatiously at the yellow line in front of the security post twenty paces behind.

For a moment I considered making a run for the line just for the hell of it, but yeah. Getting arrested with my face pressed to the dirty floor was probably among the few things I did not need right now.

"Please. If you would step aside? You're blocking the line," the turian officer said, dismissing me.

I turned around. There was no one sight. Peeved I whipped back. Beyond the yellow line two turian C-Sec officers stirred. One of them nudged the other and pointed at me. Peachy. Just damn peachy. I jammed my hands deeper into the pockets of my coat and stalked off, fuming.

Garrus walked over, a smirk plastered on his face. The simpering idiot had obviously managed to get _her_ two brain cells together and process his ID. "I told you so," he said, spreading his hands. "This is the pulsing heart of establishment folly."

"One word. One more word and I swear I'm going to punch you." I growled and rubbed the band-aid taped over my left brow where the maw's acid had burned an ugly vertical line through it.

The turian snorted, my ingenious threat bouncing off from him like dry beans from a wall. Instead he added in this insufferable husky voice that tried very hard to make me abandon all of my moral standards on the spot, "I would like to see you try, Shepard."

"Really? A challenge?" I shot back and arched my eyebrow at him. "Are you so eager to get a rubdown?"

I hadn't really said that had I? I looked around, but the closest hard surface to bang my head against was either the turian's chest or Officer Averius' front desk – both definitely a no-brainer.

A smug tone crept into his words. "You are good, Shepard. But not _that_ good."

 _Oh yeah?_ "I have two words for you, Vakarian: try me," I said and leveled him with a gaze that was part don't-you-dare-challenging-me and part I'll-jump-your-bones-if-you-don't-go-away.

He stared back, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Deal."

"Shepard? Commander Shepard?" An elderly C-Sec officer suddenly called out, making his way past the security point; his appearance preserving this conversation from skittering any further down the gutter. I jumped on the diversion with both feet.

"Yes?" I asked quickly.

"Captain Bailey." He said and shook my hand. "Councilor Anderson informed me about your arrival. He asks you to meet him and the Council immediately."

I turned to Garrus, who all off a sudden didn't look too happy and said, "Go ahead if you want. I'll catch up with you later." The turian gave me a small nod and dashed off.

"Do you have troubles?" Captain Bailey asked with a glance toward the customs counters.

"I'm listed as dead so…"

He chuckled. "I see. It's turning into a pretty popular tax dodge these days. I will take care of this. Won't take a minute."

"I might also need an update of my fingerprints." I said, thinking of my new lab-grown skin.

He inclined his head. "We can take them at the security post and the Councilor can authorize the update. If you will follow me…" Captain Bailey said.

I marched after him to the security lock, waving smugly at Officer Averius, who looked indignant enough to be three steps shy of an apoplexy.

I stepped into the narrow aisle and the blue rays of the full body scanner washed over me. A red LED blinked anxiously at the console.

"Do you carry any firearms? They have to be registered." The turian C-Sec officer overlooking the console asked and I frowned.

"Since when do Spectres need to register their weapons?" I asked, wondering if the Council was really ignorant enough to risk a repetition of the events a few years back, when the then salarian Councilor opted for a stricter regulation of arms. It was the closest the Citadel ever came to open riots.

The officer gave me an impatient look. "They don't. You do."

I glanced at Bailey, who just shrugged and gestured at me with the universal signal for 'get on with it'. The second C-Sec officer watched me carefully, his hand already gripping his pistol. I sighed inwardly. Tax excuse, my ass. This just sucked dishwater.

"Alright then," I said resigned and slowly pulled my Carnifex from the holster inside my coat.

The C-Sec officer nodded and pointed to a tray to my right. "You are allowed to bring no more than two pieces of small arms, three if you have a special permit. No explosives, no rocket launchers, and most certainly no nukes. And no, we do not care if they're the birthday present for your old aged grandmother..."

**.~'*'~.**

"Peace, Commander," Tevos, the asari councilor, said in a too appeasing tone. "Technically, you haven't done anything illegal or objectionable..." The unspoken 'not yet' was so clear she could as well have shouted it. "… and we do appreciate your efforts at being discreet about the situation, but as it is we can't help you."

"Please understand," the salarian, Valern, added, "we are grateful what you did when the _geth_ attacked the Citadel, yet your new friends are problematic. We can't allow that any involvement in their activities fall back to us."

Geth. My ass.

I glared at the three councilors, linked into Anderson's office via hologram. "Have you been listening at all?" I asked, forcing my voice into calm and clasped my hands behind my back. Reasoning with this lot was like trying to herd narcoleptics through a mattress store. Exertive, frustrating and ultimately futile. "This isn't about Cerberus. The Reapers _are_ real. They are coming. The Collectors…"

"Nonsense!" Sparatus barked. "Collectors, Reapers, there is no real proof to any of those tales! I say this is just some Cerberus scheme to distract us."

I stared at the turian councilor, my nails digging into my wrist.

"Sparatus might be harsh, but he is right," the asari added once again with the gentle voice and the pitiful look reserved for the imbecile. It drove me to the edge of my patience. "What guaranty do we have that you're even telling us the truth?"

My eyes narrowed. _And what guaranty do I have you won't shove a gun into your mouth and pull the trigger?_

"I vouch for her credibility," Anderson hastened to say. "I know her reports sound farfetched, but ask yourself - can we actually afford to ignore a possibly danger of that extent?"

Tevos tapped her lip with her finger, thinking, but the turian snorted in a way that made quite clear what _he_ thought about Anderson's opinion. I stiffened, anger stirring in me. Anderson made a small motion with his hand, telling me to stand down. This wasn't going too well and he knew it.

So I just smiled at the Council, aiming for cordial. Next to me I heard Anderson groan faintly and I caught my reflection in the tinted window to my left. Yep, very little cordiality, but therefore lots and lots of deranged maniac.

The three shared a look and the asari sighed. "Perhaps there _is_ need for someone to investigate further... Very well. As a gesture of goodwill from our side, we agree to restore your status as Spectre. It will at least allow you to move more freely in Citadel space and who knows? Perhaps you will actually find proof for your claims."

"Well, thank you then," I said through clenched teeth.

"Don't think we won't watch you, _Spectre_ ," Spartatus growled and pointed at me challengingly. "Because we do. Closely."

I glared back unblinking until they cut the connection.

Anderson exhaled audibly. "Well. It could have been worse…"

I rubbed my temples, feeling drained. "Right. But just barely."

Then I studied the man, who had been my mentor for so many years and the closest to anything resembling family I had. I had send Anderson a message right after visiting Freedom's Progress, alongside with Veetor's recordings, and I had done it only in part to rile the Illusive Man. Now however… I couldn't help the uneasy feeling that I had made a mistake. "I was on Horizon. Kaidan was there…"

He hesitated then he motioned me to follow him to the balcony. "Yes. After Cyrene and Freedom's Progress went silent, we sent him there to install a new defense system."

"The GUARDIAN would have made a nice welcome, even for the Collectors." If the colony only would have had more time…

"That was the plan. We never suspected them to hit Horizon next."

I nodded. It made no sense. Of course, if you'd take it into account that the Collectors were tagging Kaidan specifically it all of sudden made perfect sense.

I rested my arms on the metal rail and watched the vista over the artificial lakes. There was hardly any damage left from the Sovereigns' attack two years ago. Then I said softly, "You could have told me that he was there…"

Anderson regarded me for a moment. "It was a classified operation. Even if the transmission would have been routed through sufficiently secure channels I couldn't have done it. You know the ropes."

I did. It just didn't mean I liked them, though. "Anderson? What about you? You do you believe me, do you?"

This time he did not hesitate and somehow I was infinitely grateful for it. "Yes. Yes I do."

"Can't you just tell them? They're making a mistake. Again."

He laced his fingers together, giving me the suffering look that told me he had been there and gotten nothing but a bloody nose for his troubles.

"It's not that easy, Ivy. They're good people but they're politicians, not soldiers. Regardless what they say, your reports _had_ unsettled them. They just try to handle the situation the best way they know."

"By ignoring all those terribly inconvenient facts? Please, Harbinger itself could materialize in the middle of the Chamber and they would just hurry to cover their eyes and ears."

"They're afraid. And they don't have the luxury of knowing you like I do. I _know_ I can trust your reports."

Elbows prodded on the balcony's railing, I rubbed my fingertips against my forehead, suppressing a sigh. "Maybe. But all _I_ know is that many good people will pay the price for their doubts…"

"It's all we can do for now. If you find anything more concrete send it over. Between me and Udina we should be at least able to convince them that the Citadel needs to keep an eye out as well."

"Sure."

I had a feeling we would rather get a Popsicle in biblical Hell.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

The faint drone of the massive air vents was the only sound that interrupted the silence of the servicing level, high above the bustling life of one of Zakera Ward's countless apartment areas. Utterly unperturbed by my presence, a lone Keeper went on with its never-ending maintenance, side-skirting me as if I was just another piece of tech. I watched the aisle leading to a lone apartment door, arms prodded on the guardrail, Mantis ready. My thumb brushed the small nick above the trigger. Once I had deflected a blade. A blade meant for _him_ …

Soon.

Below me, Shepard sat on a bench against the wall, her coat folded on the seat beside her. She had crossed one thigh over the other, bobbing her booted foot while browsing idly through a magazine. Her loose hair was coiling against her too fragile collarbone, exposed by the round neckline of her gray shirt. A strand pf hair had fallen forward and she absently tugged it back. Waiting. It was such a convincing display of innocuous femininity, it almost fooled you into forgetting about the butt end of the gun that stuck out from below her coat and the yellow bruises and abrasions marring one side of her face. A chunk of ice formed in my chest at the memory. That really had been a close call.

Every once in a while she raised her head slightly, peering upwards in my general direction. Her face was calm but she seemed caught in her own troubling thoughts. It was even worse than when we left Tuchanka a few days back. There was already so much on her plate… Perhaps I really shouldn't have roped her into this as well. I should have come alone, taken the shot and vanished.

No. He would have simply died, too quick and too merciful; never realizing what was happening. And the truth was I _wanted_ him to know. I wanted to watch the fear creep into his eyes, to see the moment when he realized that he would pay for what he'd done. That was why I needed her. To be the herald of my vengeance. She would tell him exactly who had come for him.

Suddenly a familiar shape appeared in the aisle and the world around me slowed as my awareness was compacted into one single thought:

Sidonis.

Anger, cold and controlled, simmered in me; distilled and sharpened in countless sleepless nights.

 _Now!_ Mierin's voice commanded, and I suppressed it with a shiver, stilling my finger that stroke along the trigger. We had to wait. He _needed_ to know first!

Before he reached the apartment's door, Shepard called out and halted him. He turned around and she walked up to him, her gun tugged into the hem of her pants at the small of her back. I smiled. There was nothing innocuous about her now. Sidonis' face was gaunt and ashen, a haunted edge deeply ingrained into his features. As if he hadn't slept properly in weeks...

_Broken. Broken by guilt…_

No! It changed nothing!

Instead I watched through the scope of my Mantis. Shepard had turned off her radio and I couldn't hear her words but… I could read his face. For a moment shock rippled over it as if someone had slapped him. The corners of my mouth twitched. She had delivered my message. And then he just slumped down. He didn't try to run. He didn't argue. His haggard gaze met mine over the scope and he seemed almost relieved.

_That's it? Damn you, Sidonis! Why? WHY?_

But of course there was no answer.

"Move, woman…" I muttered under my breath and watched the back of the Spectre's head through my scope. She stood too close to the traitor to allow me a clean shot.

Suddenly she grabbed Sidonis' arm. Still blocking my firing line. "Damn it! What the hell are you doing, Shepard?"

Why wasn't she moving? A sinking feeling crept up on me. Oh no. She wouldn't do this… not after I told her what had happened. Not after she _knew_ how important this was. How different from anything else…

And then her hand moved towards her earpiece and her voice whispered through the radio, saying the words I dreaded to hear: "Garrus… Don't do this…"

A thin red veil fell over my vision. Anger erupted and roared inside me like a caged and wounded beast. How dared she? Telling me to back off when my target was so close? How could she?

"Vakarian! Look at him, for fuck's sake! Can't you see that he is already paying his price?" The last almost sounded pleading. But of course the likes of her would never do such.

Sidonis still stood there. Motionless. Crestfallen. No more than a husk of his former self. Silently awaiting the redemption only the oblivious embrace of death could give. Perhaps letting him live was the greater punishment after all… But no. I couldn't succumb to weakness now. I promised to avenge them! Promised to spill his blood for theirs!

"It's. Not. Enough…" I hissed; so cold and full of hate, I barely recognized myself.

 _Shoot her,_ the sweet familiar voice of my revenge coaxed. _Do it._ _Just a tiny grazing shot..._ _She will learn. This is not her decision…_

"Dammit Garrus! You kill him and then what?" Shepard picked up once more. "It won't bring them back!" And then softer, "It won't make the pain go away either… It never does..."

Vigorously, I pushed her words away and moved the crosshairs from my initial target. Praying that she wouldn't turn around and look at me. I emptied my mind of every thought. Of every emotion. Made way for Archangel to step in and fulfill his blood oath.

"Sometimes we have to do the wrong things for the right reasons…" I begun softly, nausea riling my stomach as a small piece of me rebelled against what was about to happen. "You of all people should understand that…"

_Forgive me, little Spectre… But you're too late to save me._

And then this small piece howled in agony and something in me died.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

I sat on the floor, hugging my knees and staring out of the window of Port Observation, where the bleakness of the dark and cold space was forming a perfect unity with my stellar mood. Forgotten in my hand, I moved the glass in slow circles, causing the amber-colored liquid to swirl in its vitreous prison. It was late and the solitude helped me to calm down. Sort of.

_Nice going, Shepard. Are you happy now?_

I'd seen Sidonis' haunted face and had known. If Garrus killed his former friend, it would eventually destroy him. Slowly turn him into this dark, sardonic version of himself, consumed by hate and the need to avenge. I couldn't bear it. Not if there was any chance for me to spare him that fate.

A fate, I knew too well. Vengeance and me, we were old friends. I knew its luring pull, its whispered promise that if you succumbed just one more time… and so you kept killing and killing in the hope that the pain would eventually go away. It was all a lie.

I slid up my hand and rubbed my bandaged left upper arm through the sweat jacket. Merely a graze, but fuck me, it hurt. My reasoning had seemed so righteous and crystal clear when I stood between his barrel and the one who betrayed him, but now it only felt shallow and hypocritical. He was a turian. What right had I to judge him by my human ethics? To interfere in matters that had nothing to do with me and everything with him seeking a way to banish his demons? Just because – what? Because _I_ was scared? Because it hurt to see him turning into me?

No wonder the inevitably happened. I screwed up. With all my best interests and oh-so fantastic reasons. Sidonis was dead and Garrus would never forgive me for trying to stop him. It was that simple. I riled him to the point of shooting me and then he had left. No yelling, no arguing, no nothing. By the time I had picked myself up and dragged my sorry ass back to the ship, he was gone.

A conflicting tangle of emotions constricted my chest. I felt guilty for letting my friend down; sad and deprived because he simply walked away from me; and angry like hell because I had allowed that turian to get so close. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was what you got from attaching yourself to others – sooner or later you waded in too deep and before you knew it you had handed those people the power to bring you misery. What was wrong with me that I just could not keep my distance any longer?

I heard the door opened behind me and I turned my head, peeved at the interruption of my stroll down self-pity lane. It was Thane. He stood in the frame, poised with his usual polite hesitation. So far I had successfully avoided most of the crew since returning to the Normandy, leaving it to Miranda and Joker to prepare our departure. Then I had been raging in hangar for hours, hit the punching bag until my arms and legs had felt leaden with exertion and… oh boy. I had yelled at Kelly just for asking if I was alright. I sighed, giving myself another mental smack. Great, acting like a first-class asshole all evening. I needed to get a grip. Commander Shepard was better than this.

I waved at him to come in. "Thane. No sleep for you, either?"

"Sleep is for those, who can actually afford the loss of time…" he said calmly, and looked at me in question.

I gestured for him sit next to me and he got down in one fluid motion.

"Attempting to drown my sorrows had always been a futile task..." He said with his raspy voice and nudged the empty bottle at my feet. I rolled my eyes. Yeah, yeah, another Mother Chakwas. Just what I needed.

"It's helping me to find at least some sleep. Keeps the nightmares at bay. Mostly."

"I understand. It must be strange to have no control over your dreams… Especially if they are bad."

"You can control what you dream?"

He inclined his head. "Usually yes. It is tied to our eidetic memory. Unfortunately that doesn't mean that all dreams are pleasant, just as not all of our memories are. But we can influence them to some extent. Of course on the other hand, it means that our dreams are less inclined to reveal what our subconsciousness is telling us."

I chuckled without mirth. "Yah. Could totally do without _that_ one."

"You're certainly a woman of many burdens…"

"That's a fine way of saying I have lots and lots of issues…"

He lifted his hands in defense, a tiny smile accompanying his words. "I apologize. That was not what I intended to say. But I understand it must be… difficult to be returned from Kalahira's shores."

I frowned. Who had told him? Somehow some sort of official version had established itself among the Crew; one in which I had "merely" been wounded like fuck, nicely glossing over the nasty coming-back-from-death business. Even those who knew better seemed more than happy to stick to the lie instead of facing reality.

"Well, I function. What more can a girl like me ask for?" I said with a shrug and another gulp of good ol' memory wiper. Never said I wasn't one of those shying away from the ugly truth.

The twin set of lids blinked. "I see. Shepard, may I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"When you realized you would die… haven't you wondered about the paths you have taken in your life? About the decisions you should have made differently?"

I opened my mouth to decline, then hesitated. True, there had been no such thing like watching my own life passing me by. Not even the few memories of its scarce pleasant moments. But what I remembered was that below all the numbing pain and fear there had been this brief moment of regret. A tiny question hovering on the brink of my awareness just before my light went dark. What if…

"Maybe. Unfortunately it's not as if I had much say in most of those paths…" I replied softly, peering into my glass to seek for some helpful guidance. There was none.

With a sigh I took another gulp of my drink. Then the drell caught my gaze.

"Shepard, that is not true. We always have a choice… We might not get to pick all of our battles but we can always choose the reason why we fight."

"That's a rather… unusual view for a professional hitman."

"Imminent death has the habit of making you reconsider your perspectives along with your priorities," he said drily, mustering me with those unsettling black eyes that always seemed to see way too deep. "When I received my diagnosis the doctors told me I had about six months left. That was fifteen months ago. It is strangely freeing to know that death is already waiting for me. I can focus on what I deem important. A sunrise experienced in the knowledge that it could be the last, carries a meaning like no other."

After a long moment I said, "That must be nice. Feeling free, I mean. Since I… woke up in that lab… I'm on the run, rushing from one mission to the next, chasing an enemy we know almost nothing about. The Illusive Man, Miranda, the Council, the crew - everybody's keeping tabs on me or wants something. It's like I'm flying on auto-pilot. Eat. Sleep. Fight. No time to breathe, no time to think. And if I finally stop... Downtime's even worse. So much has gone wrong. So much to fix. But the harder I try to righten these things, the more I screw up and damn my best reasons or priorities. What good are they if they only lead me into making new mistakes?" I stopped and took a deep breath. "Sorry. Sometimes… it's just so exhausting."

"And yet you don't give up. You keep fighting to protect others. You always care. That is admirable."

I shifted my seat and hugged my knees. "Yah… or maybe, I'd just like to believe that death rejected me for more than running errands for Cerberus or failing on fixing stuff that's fucked beyond recovery anyway."

"Shepard. For all it's worth, I don't think Kalahira rejected you. I believe she gave you a second chance."

"You really think that, huh?"

"I do."

We fell silent. Outside the velvet blackness rushed by. More than ever I felt like a flickering candle caught in infinite nothingness. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was a second chance.

_What if…_

"Thane?" I begun, taking my eyes off the window to watch the drell. Sitting cross-legged, he seemed at ease, almost relaxed, as if the assassin actually enjoyed numbing his ass on the cold deck with me. He met my gaze and I knew, despite his words, deep inside he was aching to fill his last days with more than sunrises and memories of a dead wife. For someone who brought him light.

It strangely pained me, but it couldn't be me. I was the product of dark, bloody and violent hell of a life. Fact. What light could I possibly give? Maybe if my journey had been different. Less violent. Happier. If Akuze hadn't already brought me to the brink of breaking. If dying hadn't left so many scars. If that cursed turian hadn't gotten under my skin so badly. Another Shepard, in another life.

I cleared my throat. "Hey…Don't you… wanna know? I mean... how it was to die?"

He shrugged. "No, why should I? I have made my peace with my fate. Besides, I sense… there is unrest in you. It is troubling for you to speak about what happened. I don't wish to cause you discomfort."

"Okay…"

"Though, I do appreciate the thought." Suddenly, he reached out and gave my shoulder a quick squeeze. "Please, don't worry about me, Shepard. I don't fear Kalahira's call." His expression turned distant. "And Irikah. My beautiful, strong Irikah. I'm not afraid because I know she is waiting for me…"

The drell trailed off, lost in memory and I looked away, not wanting him to read the truth from my eyes. The only thing that awaited us was oblivion. I suppressed a shiver and I downed the puddle of whiskey left in my glass.

_What if…_

Gods, but my life was a mess.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

The stomping beat of the club surged against my consciousness, its mesmerizing pulse trying to carry me away. Unblinking I stared at the palms of my hands on the bar's counter. Strange how clean they were despite all the blood sticking to them.

I had killed Sidonis. I had fulfilled my promise and avenged my friend's deaths. I flexed my claw-tipped fingers. I should have felt relief, a grim satisfaction, anything; but there was nothing.

" _Take what you want – and pay the price."_

It was a saying my mother had always been especially fond of and, spirits; I had wanted Sidonis dead from the deepest recesses of my heart. But now… now I had to live with the terrible realization that it might not have been worth the price…

_A soft groan through the radio in my ears; finally piercing the veil of my anger._

_A muffled curse._

_Slowly she picks herself up, bright red blood running down her bare arm. She turns around, looks up. Straight at me. Without a word. Her face a mask of pain. Of sorrow. And regret. And -_

I shied away from the memory. I couldn't bear it. Not now.

My hands clenched into fists. Maybe a part of me was already coming to the conclusion that killing Sidonis might not have been the right choice. And yet... _This_ would have never happened had she accepted my decision in the first place. Why couldn't she see that things had changed in the last two years? That I had changed? Was a little respect too much to ask for? Damn it, would that stubborn woman treat me forever like some inexperienced rookie when I just wanted… to be seen as an equal?

I exhaled with a sigh, motioning to the bartender for another drink. That way laid insanity.

"Garrus? Is that you?" A female voice suddenly called out in surprise and I turned, seeing one of the last persons I ever expected to find me in my misery. "Spirits, what happened to your face?"

 


	12. Of sunflowers and promises broken

Now I'm trapped in this memory  
And I'm left in the wake of the mistake, slow to react  
Even though you're close to me  
You're still so distant, and I can't bring you back

It's true the way I feel  
Was promised by your face  
The sound of your voice  
Painted on my memories  
Even if you're not with me  
I'm with you

You now I see  
Keeping everything inside  
You now I see  
Even when I close my eyes

_Linkin' Park - With you_

* * *

**~ Of sunflowers and promises broken ~  
**

I was running, but there was no escape.

Nightmarish creatures followed me at my heels, slicing at my calves, my back, my arms; their claws dripping red with my blood. Like fat ruby drops the blood splattered the ground behind me. I was too slow. They would catch me! Ahead. Somewhere ahead was safety! If I got there… I ran faster, determination rushing through me. I wouldn't break. I was running as hard as I could, yet the tantalizing haven merely crawled closer. Sweat broke out along my body. I was almost there, this promising safety only a few paces away. And abruptly, it was gone. No! The monstrosities closed in on me in a blink. I tried to flee, but they pulled me down, a tide of teeth and claws surging all around me. Something drilled into my mind like a spike, trying to wrestle away control and…

With a start, I woke up, grappling frantically with orientation.

The haze, which molded dream and reality into one, dissolved and I took an unsteady breath. The clock on the nightstand was flashing a happy 400 at me and I groaned. The barrel of alcohol I had downed (let alone the shot of ryncol, Gardener used for especially persistent pots) should have put me under a coma three weeks from now, but no, my granted sleep barely pushed it beyond the three hour line. My stomach heaved. Perhaps I shouldn't have skipped dinner either.

Sluggish, I got up and shuffled to the bathroom. The abrupt illumination jolted a stab of pain through the lids into my skull and I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, cursing. Perhaps, I felt… not so well. I shivered. Damn, but I was freezing. Slowly, I adjusted to the light and grimaced at the mirror. Uhg, someone had dragged me back to hell when I hadn't been looking. The maw's acid had left an angry red scar that bisected my left brow. My eyes were blood-shot; khol and mascara had smudged into thick black smears around them and… was there a grayish touch to my skin? Terrific.

Suddenly, the face in the mirror shifted sideways – no, I was losing my footing as my sense of balance went off the rails without warning. In reflex I reached for the edge of the metallic sink and barely managed to stem my fall. My stomach lurched and I retched, acid burning up my throat. My innards felt as if they were dissolving. For a short moment, I struggled on the brink of fainting. Coughing, I let the cool water run across my wrists and splashed my face until I steadied. A good thing we were still two days away from our next destination. The way my hands shook, I wouldn't be able to hit a yahg with a shotgun if it sat right in front of me.

I put on some sweats and made my way down to the Crew Deck, fantasizing despite my upset stomach about perfectly grilled steaks. And strawberries. And fresh eggs. Or just anything not pasteurized to death.

Curiously, there was light in the Mess. Dimmed, but still light. And soft clatter? I sneaked around the elevator. A slim figure was roaming behind the counter of the Mess, stirring in a large bowl with a spoon. Then she leaned down and pulled a metal tray from the oven. Suddenly I smelled a whiff of roasted nuts and sugar. It was Jack and she was… baking? In the middle of the night? Was this some kind of ryncol-ridden nightmare?

With a private snicker I stepped into the Mess. In many aspects, Jack was very much like me. Or better, like the me I would have grown into had I stayed with the Reds; an instinct-driven maniac with a foul mouth and a defect moral compass. Guess it didn't come as a surprise that if you just get fucked by the world long and hard enough, one day you stopped caring for anything but plain survival… No. I might still feel guilty about abandoning the kids head over heels but I'd never regret taking the one-way ticket Anderson offered me on this rainy April morning.

Oblivious to my musings, Jack looked up from spreading a sticky mass of minced nuts, grains and dried fruits on a second tray with a spoon, her menacing scowl daring me to comment. Was there a hint of embarrassment?

I reached out for the metallic frame of one of the bar stools by the counter and an electric jolt went through me. I grunted and rubbed my fingers. Goddamn biotics. Manipulating mass effect fields inevitably increased the electrical potential your body could store – and that was exactly why all strong biotics were lousy techs. Discharging into a mainframe while trying to disarm the rogue VI ready to blow up your ass? Not so cool.

I sat down and watched her shoving the second tray into the oven then cut the backed mass on the first in small squares with a knife. Another bunch of round ones sat cooling on a plate on the counter.

"Cookies?" I asked, barely able to keep the amusement from my tone. Even while watching her handle the whole kitchen stuff with so much more competence than I did, it was just too hard to get rid of the image that she usually _scared_ people into surrendering their meals.

Her eyes narrowed. "No. High-nutrition field rations. Nuts, oats, dried fruits, mainly acai; and I use this specially refined asari honey. Tastes like ass but gives four times the calories of a standard energy bar. I've the bloody feeling I better stock up before you're working me to death," Jack said in her usual brusk tone that told me we were all fluffy rainbows and happy unicorns. Well, by her standards. Then she added with a scowl for me, "If you want my opinion: it was a fucking mistake to let Vakarian off the ship. You need people who can gun down things on first sight," and dumped the squares into a metal box.

I snorted. _Do tell._ "Uh-huh. It wasn't as if I had much of a choice. Couldn't just tie him down and bolt his ass to the deck, y'know?"

The biotic shrugged in the nonchalant way of people considering tying and bolting a perfectly legitimate course of action. Then her expression shifted into a tiny, but distinctive grin. Oh boy. And since I rather not wanted to know where her mind ended up following _that_ specific line of thought, I went on with the first thing that popped up in my head.

"So. Massani, eh…" I asked innocently and the cookie baking psychopath with the big-ass knife gave me such a dark glare, I would have certainly keeled over fainting if I hadn't been trained to kill things for a living.

"Fuck you, Shepard," she growled. The oven's timer beeped once and she tossed the knife on the counter to take out the tray. "Don't you have anyone else to bug?"

I looked around. "It's four in the morning… So, no. Besides, I actually just wanted to fix myself something to eat."

"Grab a few cookies. You look like shit," she said while starting to portion the second load.

"Well thank you. I thought these were 'High-nutrition field rations'?" I quipped back.

"Know what? They are whatever it takes to make you and your goddamn wiseass… ass leave me alone."

I snickered and reached out for one of the round cookies. Jack pulled the plate away.

"Uhh, you don't want one of those…" Jack said and set the box in front of me instead.

"No?" I asked, taking a few squares with a thankful nod.

This time I was certain the biotic _was_ flustered. I bit into the stack of cookies. There was a strangely bitter aftertaste due to the asari honey but aside from this the thing was actually tasty. I fought down a grin. Who would have thought?

"They're loaded. EBB," the tattooed woman said and started to store the corpus delicti into a second box.

I arched an eyebrow. "EBB?" I asked and licked the last crumbs from my fingers, feeling… well, not exactly sated but nourished enough to get through the rest of the night.

"Extra boost of badassness," Jack admitted. "Red Sand." I frowned and, pointing at me with the knife, she added, "Hey, I know what I'm doing and right now I'm just improving our survival chances. If you rather want to wait for those Cerberus bastards to pull your exhausted ass out of the fire line, fine! But they won't touch me! Never again!" She hissed, left hand clenching the box, knuckles white.

I kept silent. I had already learned the hard way that any verbal expressions of sympathy – or worse, pity – would only tip her over the edge raging.

Then a remote, almost hopeful cast edged into her expression. "One day…" she inhaled, nostrils flaring. "One day I swear I'm going to find these assholes… each and every one of them and they will pay." Her gaze fastened on me, madness glittering in her brown almond-shaped eyes unchecked. "I will hunt them down, wherever the fuck they hide. Wherever they try to live their pathetic lives. And when I find them then they'll wish they hadn't fucked with this kid's head…"

"Just give me a call. I'll hold the ropes tying them down," I said plainly but dead-serious and the thing was, I actually meant it. Somewhere in my head reasonable-Shepard sniffed at my hypocrisy, but I ignored her. This was just… different. They had tortured those kids, for god's sake. Wasn't as if there was anything in this universe that could possibly damage _her_ any further.

Surprise replaced anger and she tilted her shaved and tattooed head. "Hey, what's this now? Tired of being the queen of the girl scouts?"

I leaned my arms on the counter, flashing her my little deranged smile.

"Let me tell you a story. Have you ever been in New York?"

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

I woke and instantly regretted it.

My head throbbed with a dull pulsing ache that seemed to spread from my jaw to the tips of my fringe. I grimaced and carefully lifted my forehead from the cushion. When the room stopped spinning I found myself looking at an unfamiliar environment. It was a hotel room. But not mine. Too expensive furniture.

Oozingly slow, details from last evening leaked through the haze of my fogged mind. I… had been on my way to get properly wasted in some club in the lower wards. Wanted to forget things for a while. And then Selene was suddenly there. An old, let's say, friend, back from the days when my youth and my achievements in the military made me foolish enough to really believe in my own invincibility.

I frowned, trying to remember what story I had told her last evening. Whatever it was it made her first sad and then eager to cheer me up. Despite my better knowledge more drinks followed…

Stifling a groan, I dumped my head back into the cushion.

_Never missing an opportunity to burn our fingers, are we?_

Or rather, both of my hands in that case. Selene was a dangerous companion. Not just because she was Cabal, but because she was the kind of woman who always tried to sell you an illusion. The illusion that one day she _could_ be yours. I had walked into this trap once. Had believed I've found something true, something that was more contenting than a hundred nights spent in a hundred different arms could ever be. Meaning. But in the end? Anger. Hurt. Scorched earth. And yet…

…and yet the next thing I remembered was that her dancing body had been flush with mine. She had nipped my neck, then whispered an offer, and I? I begged her to make me forget…

I turned around and sat up, the sheet slipping down my bare chest. I rubbed my neck but there was absolutely no leeway for any excuses now that I was confronted with the full vista of Selene's naked back; the deep red tattoo with the stylized moon and lightning of the cabal unit taking up the greater part of her left shoulder plate, contrasting so nicely with her light, almost silvery body plates. Just as I remembered, even down to the faded scar next to the tattoo where I had bitten her in a fit of juvenile foolishness. Just as I remembered and yet… different.

As I sat in bed watching her sleep, I realized something else. Once the reminder of our time together would have touched something in me. Would have warmed a deeply hidden part of my heart and sparked that tiny piece of foolish affection all first true loves commandeered… Not so now. I had changed so much from the man I used to be that no more but the faintest echo of his passions had survived. Too many wrong decision. Too many shattered hopes. Too many times kicked in the face by life. Instead… just a tired, callous emptiness.

Perhaps the real illusion was to believe that things actually could be any different.

In silence I got up and searched through the littered cloths for mine. I put on my shorts and pushed the balcony's doors open to step outside. A soft breeze, artificially kept at an unchanged slightly cool temperature, moved the air. I rested my forearms on the rail and watched the Citadel's early morning traffic. Thinking of nothing for once.

My peace wasn't lasting for long, though.

A few minutes later I heard soft footsteps behind me. A hand brushed down my spine. Teeth bit playfully at my shoulder.

"Sorry. Not in the mood…" I said without turning.

"Ah, but I could make you…" Selene said undisturbed and with something suspiciously resembling a purr. Then she paused and leaned against the rail to my left. He tone became more serious. "So… still thinking about the other woman, hmm?"

I gave a start and stared at her. She hadn't bothered to dress, giving me and whoever would look at the balcony an unobstructed view of the lithe body she was so proud of. And stunning she was. My gaze slid over the even, almost delicate plates of her face; the graceful arch of her back, her slim waist, her long legs, shaped by years of serving with the Cabal. Biotics were rare among my kind and often received with a certain wariness, yet unlike most others she had always embraced her uniqueness with all her heart. Confident. Unashamed. It was what had drawn me to her from the very beginning, which should have drawn me now, but…

Selene snickered, clicking her claws against the rail. "Pleazze, for the Ancestors' sake, Garrus. You really believe a woman doesn't realize if the man she's sleeping with thinks about someone else?" Then with another look at my face she sighed and added, "You've always been terrible liar. Worse if it comes to hiding your feelings..."

Avoiding her prying eyes, I stared once more at the sky traffic ahead, and yet I couldn't prevent her words from stirring up this _other_ memory of last night…

_With one hand I'm pinning Selene's arms down over her head and into the cushions. Doubt flickers on the edge of my mind and is swept away by the new vicious light that enters her gaze. She pushes her middle violently towards me. Demanding. Needing. Right or wrong; it both loses its meaning somewhere between her little feral growl and her plates sliding sensuously against mine. Yes. She's here and she's scorching away the cold emptiness inside, leaving nothing but mindless need in its wake. In response I tighten my grip on her wrists and run my free hand down the side of her neck, grazing one of the few sensible parts of her body with my claws ever so slowly. She inhales sharply, her body tensing in sweet anticipation._

_And in front of my inner eye_ _the cabal suddenly_ changes _._

_Rough silvery plates turn into even pale skin. Pliable reddish lips smile at me mischievously, ready to utter commands of a completely different kind. Sun-colored hair tangles around her head, begging me to twine my fingers in them. I'm furious at the sight of her and at the same time I'm aroused as hell. The beast that lives in all of us roars; strains against the chains, its need the catalyst that blurs the fine line between reality and sweet fantasy even further. Every detail so clear, so deeply etched into my memory. I see her pulling up her shirt to expose her soft-looking belly for me. I remember the feel of her skin below my fingers as I marked her on Tuchanka with our blood. The memory of her scent fills my nostrils and I spiral further and further away from myself._

_I see the challenge in her gaze and it fans my desire into a raging wild fire. Instincts take over and I release her arms; grabbing for her delicate waist, lifting her up, thrusting into her. Not enough. I move faster and Selene gasps, her hard body flexing around me, yet I barely register, my intoxicated mind trapped too deeply within the dark desire I had denied myself so rigorously._

" _Garrusssss…"_

_Selene's moan cuts through my own, yet for me it's a clear, melodic voice; a voice free of any disharmonies._

_Thick, hot blood pulses in my veins to the rhythm of my frantic heartbeat. Teeth bite into my shoulder. Clawed fingers dig into my back. Harder, yes. Pleasure and pain; becoming one as I pretend to claim the body of the lethal soldier who saved me from my certain death._

_I come, hard and violent; but instead of Selene's cerulean irises flecked with gold, all I see are huge sea-green eyes, shining with rapture..._

_Shepard's eyes._

With a groan I hit my forehead against the rail. I should have never left the Normandy. There I would have just felt sick. Now I felt sick _and_ pathetic.

"I'm an idiot," I said without looking up. "Sorry."

"No. Just a little messed up." Selene chuckled and nudged my side with her hip. "Hey, don't worry. One way or the other we are all damaged goods."

I grunted in agreement then regarded her sharply. "If you knew… Why…"

The woman I had once believed to love shrugged. "You seemed in need of a distraction. I just wanted to help. For the sake of the old times," she added with a naughty, not-so-selfless grin. "And _I_ certainly enjoyed your… spirit."

... and bottom line that was the trouble with her. Neither her beauty nor her cunning mind could hide that her heart held room only for one love – and that was Selene.

"I see," I said curtly. I had no interest in giving her the impression that I wanted to revive the past in any way. This dream had died a painful death many years ago.

Selene looked at me for a long time, considering. Then the biotic lifted her hand as if to touch the damaged side of my face – and dropped it again. Her voice became serious. "You've changed a lot since I've seen you last. Not much left of the old Garrus I know, hmm?"

I took a deep breath. Somehow, the air seemed too fresh and too clean. "No. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Selene sighed. "Guess it's the way things are supposed to be…"

"So… no hard feelings?"

"No hard feelings," Selene agreed with a tiny smile and added softer, "So. You really _do_ like her…"

"Yes. No. It's complicated…" I said, staring again at the hands that had shot the woman who was riding me through more emotional conflicts than any other before.

_You broke your word, Vakarian. You abandoned her in the middle of the fight…_

"Yes, yes. If I only would get a credit every time I hear that excuse… Listen, Garrus: why don't you just go to her, sort things out and… you know… make up. I'm sure you can come up with something impressive."

"I seriously doubt that _this_ will even begin to solve our problems. Besides, I don't think she… seeks that kind of company," I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. I remembered quite well how uneasy she had been about Liara's tentative attempts at hitting on her. And how she had chased Alenko out of her room the night before Ilos. No, her actions had always made it quite clear that she wasn't interested in a mate. Only… since she had returned from the dead, _had_ seemed to be more and more the keyword in here.

Selene snorted. "How will you know? You haven't asked her, have you?"

"Of course not… Hey. Why are we even talking about this? She's… a friend and that's all there will ever be. End of story."

"Sure, Garrus. Just a friend…" Selene said, but again a tiny smile betrayed what she actually meant:

_Garrus Vakarian, you're a fucking liar._

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

Hell had literally broken lose all around me.

Heastrom was crawling with geth, a Colossus was playing piggy-in-the-middle, an injured quarian marine was yelling at us and I crouched behind a low wall cursing myself at least for a thousandth time that I'd chased Garrus off with my stupidity. I had gotten so used to the sniper watching my sixes that his absence now had me on edge. It felt just _off_ and this was the kind of asininity that usually ended with nothing less than a bullet to your head.

An explosion shook the wall before me. I crawled over to where the quarian had boxed himself in. Twenty yards to our right Massani and Grunt tried to drown the attacking geth troops in barrage fire. The rest of the team was with Miranda and Jacob, ensuring that we would have a way out if we ever got through to Tali who had locked herself in Heastrom's observatory behind two foot of steel.

The Colossus turned towards the krogan and the mercenary. Artillery boomed and sent them into hiding. Kal'Reegar hoisted his rocket launcher. Unleashed another missile. The Colossus's shields flashed and the missile exploded, forcing the huge geth to reassess and break its attack. It was all the effect we would get. Thanks to the unusually strong shields the explosion had barely left a scratch on the shiny metallic alloy. Funny, but _my_ shields had simply stopped working due to Haestorm's dying sun. Oh yeah, the great mystery of the universe.

"We have to take out the Colossus first, otherwise we'll be nailed down forever!" Kal'Reegar shouted over the muzzle flashes.

"I'm on it! How are you holding up?" I asked, glancing at the rupture in his enviro-suit.

"Fair enough. The prospect of dying in the middle of a battle because of an infection can be an incredible motivator."

Hah, I already liked this guy.

"Just stay down, cover our backs, and make a damn effort to stay alive. I'm not telling Tali that I lost the last member of her team! Got it, soldier?" I shouted back.

"Yes, Commander," he said and with a last nod, I started onwards.

Keeping low, I advanced to the Colossus from the left. I caught up with Massani and Grunt, the krogan complaining once more that 'shooting nuts and bolts' was no fun at all.

"Tactics?" Massani barked and eyed the gargantuan geth belligerently.

"I'll go near and disable the shields, if necessary, manually. Just keep the other geth off my back. As soon as the shields are down, you pond at the thing until it dies." What a helluva plan. Where was my medal and my parade for devising such pinnacle of brilliancy?

For a moment the mercenary seemed about to object, but then he just loaded the rocket launcher we had the smart sense to bring along and spit over his shoulder. For luck, I guessed. He was definitely learning the ropes. "Simple enough."

I peeked over to the Colossus. The self-repair protocol unreeled. Our time window had started. And it was disheartening short. I gave my squad a last thumbs-up and vaulted over the rail, creeping towards the massive metal chunk from a blind angle - at least that was what I was hoping. You could never be too sure with synthetics. I readied my omni-tool. The regular way to overload a shield was using a directional EMP device connected to your armor's battery packs. Sure, there was always the guerilla method of sticking your biotically charged hands into the thing and fry the whole electronic, but yeah, there were even some limits to my madness.

I was twenty yards away when the Colossus got back online with a low drone. I pointed with the omni-tool towards the geth. Released the pulse. The shields flickered and then… nothing. They just resumed glowing at me mockingly. Great. The sun had fried not only my shields' electronics but had also drained the batteries as well.

I sneaked closer, the geth's attention caught by another of Kal'Reegar's missiles. Ten yards. One attempt left. Then I had no other option but to feel up the synthetic's private parts.

Closer.

I readied the EMP once more.

 _Please don't turn.._.

I could almost touch the metallic body, gleaming softly in the sun. And for once the universe relented. I unleashed another EMP. Tried to will the shield away with my powers of suggestion. They flickered once, twice… and dropped.

I jumped backwards. The Colossus's sensors had finally picked up on me and it started to move in my direction. I dove for the nearest cover. A missile went off. The spot where I'd been standing exploded in a spray of concrete - and then the first of _our_ rockets found its target. In rapid succession the impacts shook the metal beast. Thunder boomed. Again. And again. There was a moment of silence and then a deafening roar reverberated through the courtyard. I was still too close, the shock wave of the geth's detonation caught me. My body slammed against the nearest wall.

I howled.

A blinding agony bit my left leg. The intensity almost rendered me unconscious. I slid down the wall. Thought I screamed again but couldn't be sure. Mind numb and vision blurry with tears, I looked down. A piece of metal, the length of my hand, had speared through my thigh and it was hurting like fuck. I leaned against the wall to stay upright and tried to examine the wound. Hot pain seared up to my spine in a way only shredded nerve cords and muscles could justify. Godfuckingdammit!

Had it hit the femoral artery? There seemed to be not enough blood, but it was hard to tell because I almost lost my sorry excuse of a breakfast to the invading nausea. If it had… Five minutes and all sorrows would be over.

Around me the gunfire was ebbing, as the last geth fell to the remaining humanoids. Slowly I inched upwards with my back pressed to the wall, pushing myself up with my right leg. Five minutes. How long was I already struggling here?

In that moment, Massani and Grunt appeared, towing a battered Kal'Reegar along. He had stayed put. Despite the pain I smiled. The small favors. Massani ran over to me and slung his arm around my waist before I could fall, thankfully forgoing any stupid questions that would have only robbed me of my precious concentration – and I needed all of it to hold on.

Hobbling, we approached the observatory.

"Keelah! Shepard!"

Tali's shout from the entry. I lifted my too heavy head to watch her dart towards us. Warm was pooling inside my left boot.

"I'm okay, Tali. It's just a scratch…" At least that was what I _wanted_ to say. It actually came out more like "Mm'kay, 'ali. Ss jus'a'sctch…"

The last I saw was my pale face's reflection in her violet mask. Despite the mercenary's death grip on my torso, I crumpled to the ground.

 _Some glorious rescue commando we are_ …

I passed out.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

I caught my clenched fist an inch before it slammed into the console that came with my hotel room. On the Citadel they made you pay even for the smallest dent.

"Are they sure?" I asked, trying to force calm into my words. It wasn't working. All the things that had happened after I pulled that blasted trigger on Sidonis had rubbed me raw.

Silence. Then my sister said, "Yes. They even ran the tests for a second time to be certain. The Corpalis syndrome had caused the break down. It's finally there…"

"How much time does she have?"

"A year. Perhaps two. Perhaps longer. It's still too early to make any predictions. And Mom… You know how stubborn she is, but they say… They say once the mental degeneration has kicked in, it's irreversible..." Solana's voice broke off. We had played this through a many times but now that it was real… Expecting the worst would still only prepare you so far.

"Where are you now?"

"Already at home. Got the clearance for the shift to Cipritine quite fast. Garrus…"

Elbows propped on the edge of the comm-slash-entertainment terminal, I caught my head between my hands. "I know, Sol… But…"

"Don't you but me, Garrus Vakarian! You don't call, you don't text, you just let us sit here and guess if you're okay! You promised to come home; that was when? A few weeks after this super secret mission of yours? Oh wait, that's been two years ago. What is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry. It's… things became complicated then… I needed some time to clear my head..."

On the other side of the line something thrashed against a wall. "Two years? Don't give me this rotten garbage! Do we really mean so little to you that not even now we can have your attention?"

"You know it's not like that!" I hissed and glared at the console's blank screen. Showing her my damaged face wouldn't have made this any easier.

"Then come home! Please."

I rubbed my face, shoulders slumping down. This was going to be hell. Perhaps yesterday I would have considered flying back to Palaven, but today? Just this morning I had received a message from Tali. She was with the Normandy now. Demanding to know why _I_ wasn't. And they would return to the Citadel in a few days…

"I'm sorry. But I can't. Not now... There's this… mission I have to see to first…" And Solus might have some ideas. All issues with Shepard aside, the salarian was my best shot for help… But it also meant I _had_ to get back…

"And here we go again…" she sneered. "What is it this time? Has some random criminal escaped his just punishment once more? Spirits, Garrus, will you never grow up? Playing hero isn't a life concept! You're not even with C-Sec any longer. You..."

"Do you think this is easy?" I yelled, then pushed away from the console and started pacing the small hotel room. "That I don't wish to pack my gear and come home?" I took a deep breath. Shouting at my sister never got anyone anywhere. "Look, this really _is_ important. I have given my word. There's too much at stake to turn away; it's my responsibility…"

"And what about the responsibility towards your family?" She interrupted acidly.

"I'll do what I can to help you from remote…"

My sister sniffed. "That's about the stupidest crap I've ever heard."

I said nothing. Just clenched my fists until my palms started to burn.

Perhaps Solana was right. Perhaps I was making yet another mistake by satisfying my selfishness and chasing further after this ridiculous moment of purpose I felt while gunning outside the lines, fighting evil with the Normandy crew.

Then again, Joker and Dr. Chakwas had joined Cerberus. The Professor had left his clinic. Tali the Fleet. Wrex was where he was supposed to be. So was Liara, regardless how much Shepard rebelled against it. And whatever Kaidan had been up to on Horizon, I was convinced it was something he considered important. Everyone had chosen the theatre where they were needed the most, only Garrus Vakarian was incapable of deciding on which front he wanted to fight.

 _And what if the Professor_ can _help?_

Finally I heard my sister sigh. "Garrus? I'm sorry… I hadn't meant to take it out on you, but it's been a rough day. Dad pulled some strings with Fedorian but even his specialists are pretty much useless."

"I can't believe there is nothing we can do..."

"Well… off-world they might have a treatment to slow things down, but those salarians are expensive as hell. So, if you haven't robbed a bank or won the lottery recently…" she trailed off.

"No, but let me see what I can do."

"That's a nice thought but it's alright," she said in resignation. "We will handle this, somehow. Just… try to come before it's too late, 'kay?"

"Will do. I'll keep in touch as often as I can. And Sol?"

"Ray-Ray?"

 _Tell them I'm sorry. For the things I said. For never being the son they wished for…_ "Just… Take care."

"Okay. You too."

I broke the connection.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

Three days after my unfortunate encounter with a piece of geth junk, I was sitting in the Med Bay on one of the beds, waiting impatiently for Dr. Chakwas to examine my thigh. Come to think of it, it couldn't be that bad. I mean, it even wasn't hurting _that_ much…

The bandage came off and revealed an almost three inch long, ugly ragged wound, standing out on my perfectly smooth and unmarred skin like a bloody corpse in a picture of winter wonderland. It also looked somewhat infested. Frustrated I scowled at the injury then tried to flex my muscles. They complied with the nasty feeling of tissue ungluing and the doc muttered under her breath. I caught 'stubborn' and 'sedative' and stilled. Better not to provoke any unnecessary incidents. Besides, in another day or two I would probably be able to walk again anyway.

_What if someone hacked off my arm? Could we just stitch it back on with a piece of parcel string and call it a day?_

"Stop that." Dr. Chakwas said and returned to examining the suture's fringes.

"What?" I returned guardedly.

"You're brooding again. I can't tell it often enough; with a more positive perspective…" She was cut off by Miranda strolling in.

I rolled my eyes, just glad that I was spared another one of the Doc's notorious lectures on irrational optimism. Kinda hard to be optimistic when about everything was going to hell around you.

"Hey Miranda," I said, waving. "All running smoothly?"

"Good to see you up and kicking. Wouldn't want my hard work with you to be ruined…"

Her smile said she was just being funny (which she was _not_ ), and I flinched inwardly. Nobody managed to remind me of all the pretty little things I would have rather liked to forget forever as unerring as Lawson.

"How are the implants doing, Doctor? Any signs of rejection?" My dark haired XO asked in her usual business-like manner and took the datapad the Doc was handing her after she fixed my new bandage.

"As far as I can judge _from far away_ her body seemed to have adjusted well enough," the Doc said, with a reproachful scowl in my direction.

I grimaced and Miranda nodded. "Still, we better run a full deep scan. We have to exclude that there is any interference with her neurotransmitters."

The two turned and looked at me like two hawks spotting the same mouse.

I raised my hands; perhaps a tad too defensively. "Woah, I'm fine." Yeah, fine. Like Fucked in Extreme.

"Don't worry, Shepard. It won't hurt," Miranda said.

I arched my brow at her. " _Hurt?_ I don't give a flying fuck about the pain. I-"

The door opened again and I craned my neck.

Wanna know what's even worse than having a doctor and a research director fussing about your body, ready to draw their dissection knives? Exactly. _Two_ doctors and a research director.

"Ah, Shepard. There you are," Mordin Solus said in his clipped way of speaking. Then he glanced at the datapad in Miranda's hand and whatever else he had wanted to say went straight out the proverbial window. "Spinal attached trauma module?"

"Sort of." Miranda said, excited. "It's a special prototype developed by the best medical engineers Cerberus has. It wasn't designed to dispense medigel but a tiny amount of nanoparticles that stimulates the body's own defenses and bolsters them up. It cuts down the healing process to a fifth."

Is it just me or do you also get this fuzzy feeling if someone uses the words 'special prototype', 'nanoparticle' and 'Cerberus' in one go?

"Just look at the amazing speed with which her body replenishes leuko's." Dr. Chakwas added. The she frowned. "Though she needs to eat properly. I fear that together with those new biotic amps they are draining too much energy."

" _He-ll-o?_ " I exclaimed, getting more and more peeved by the minute. "I can still hear you, y'know?"

Three pair of eyes fastened on me, expressing various levels of surprise. Incredible. They actually seemed to have completely forgotten about me.

"Sorry, Commander." At least Miranda looked flustered. For about half a second. Then she said sternly, "You need to eat."

"What's this?" The Professor asked, pointing at the datapad.

_The prelude to a news flash, concluding with the words: 'and then she turned the weapon on herself'?_

"These…" the Doc huffed, "Are her ACTH and cortisol values."

"Impossible. Parameters extending norm values by far."

This was ridiculous. I was about to wiggle my way down the table when Mordin addressed me.

"Shepard. Continuing without stress release will have detrimental effects to physical and mental health. Let alone effects on crew morale."

"So…"

"My personal advice: find stress release. Medical recommendation: sexual activities. Fastest and most thoroughly method for hormone-driven species."

My head whipped around and I felt my cheeks heathen up. _We're not having this conversation, we're not having…_

"Would propose Officer Taylor as most suitable candidate, but lack in trust… problematic. Trust… hmm," the salarian plowed onwards in his monologue and I found myself unable to do anything but gasp wide-eyed for air like a stranded fish. "You trust the quarian. No, no signs of sapphic affinities…"

This was just a bad dream. Right? RIGHT?

"Professor Solus, my data recorded a significant decrease in stress signals in the presence of Officer Vakarian," EDI added – gleefully, I swear – and just like that the last shards of my dignity ran off never to be seen again.

"Not helping, EDI," I sang, rubbing my temples, where a dull ache was announcing a formidable headache. It also prevented my hands from going to some certain throats.

The salarian cocked his head and blinked. "The turian? Hmm. Sexual activities normal stress release for turians as well. Might procure win-win situation. Caution recommended but still worth a try if he would be aboard… Commander, are you ill? Your face shows distinct greenish tint... Can retrieve bin."

"Thank you, that's not necessary…" I groaned, while some dirty voice in my head hummed that this kind of stress release certainly would be fun. "You know what? If Garrus ever decides to grace us with his presence again, I'll think about your advice."

Which was just as likely as a snowstorm in hell on a midsummer day; but rather that than having the Professor come up with anymore of his wholesome suggestions.

"Can help. There." Mordin said and typed into his omnitool. "Message sent with mating request."

"WHAT?" I sputtered and jumped off the table. I barely registered the sharp pain jolting up my thigh. My voice broke into some high-pitched squeal out of sheer mortification. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

In panic my eyes darted around seeking for help, but Lawson and the Doc were just watching my drama as fascinated as if it was some kind of Spanish telenovela acted out right in front of them.

I turned the evil-eye back to the salarian, forcing him to lift his hands in defense. "No need for concern. Was just… test."

A test? _A FRIGGING_ _TEST?_

"Okay that's it, I'm done here," I shouted and limped towards the door.

The salarian coughed and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. "Is there anything else, Professor?"

… _and then she turned the weapon on herself…_

"Actually, yes. Finished analysis of Collector tissue acquired on Horizon."

Well, _that_ got my attention and I turned in the doorframe.

"And you couldn't tell that fact first, could you?" I asked, annoyed.

"Shepard, that's good news," Miranda said way too neutral as if she was desperately fighting back a fit of laughter and I really began to understand why Jack was hiding out in a dark spot in the bowls of the ship. Not much of a risk getting humiliated there.

"Okay, I'm listening," I said. "What do you have?"

"First, started with synthesizing DNA. Compared different tissues to learn more about Collector's derivation. Then realized DNA contained unusual patterns. Seemed… engineered?"

"Engineered? As in not naturally grown?" I asked, my anger slowly dissipating.

"Yes. Ran another sequence analysis to match with husk tissue. Found similar patterns." He started walk up and down, hands gesturing in agitation. "Husks modification of humans. Collectors have similar changes in genome only more... complex. Use of another species to create Collectors only logical conclusion. Reverse engineered husk DNA with human genome, then applied template to rebuild Collector DNA."

He took a breath. "Cannot be sure but suspect Collectors to be modified Protheans."

Had someone dropped a pin _now_ , it would have shattered the room's silence.

"Impossible…" the Doc said softly and Miranda nodded, her eyes wide.

"So…" I began slowly. "The Collectors are in truth Prothean husks; transformedby Reaper tech…"

"Yes. However, need more data to verify."

"Okay. I'll see what I can do the next time we run into them."

"I'll inform the others about the updates. On the Collectors, I mean," Miranda said and sashayed out of the room.

I first stopped banging my head against the door frame when the Doc pulled me away.

**.~'*'~.**

' _Wanna f%$k like a b3a5t?_

_Buy now the only potency drug with extracts from krogan testicles. 100 % genuine! 100 % cumshots! 100 % satisfaction!'_

100% Yuk. I hit the DELETE button.

Really, after my Med Bay-humiliation, it did feel like a reward extraordinaire to browse through my private mailing account clearing out the 99.99 % of spam that had piled up within two years.

' _Are you ashamed because your outward appearance doesn't reflect your inner beauty? Dr. Snip and his team will make your dreams come true. Warning: Limited functionality of additional genitalia is no warranty case!'_

DELETE. What was wrong with those people?

' _Hello my friend. This do be Bob, we do met last year. I do make big buziness but now I do need your help to enter to Citadel space and pick up me money. Pleaze do send your ID numbr to me. I do share my profit wit you. 23.000.000 creditz will be you!'_

DELETE. Sorry Bob.

It went on like that. Penis enlargement, casino spam, phishing for extranet account data, phishing for bank data, some more penis enlargement, boobs enlargement, chain letters threatening with some obscure acts of reprisal, vagina tightening (no joke, I swear)…

DELETE. DELETE. DELETE. In my head it sounded almost like DIE. DIE. DIE.

When I'd lived out my mail killing rampage, there were just a handful of messages left. Among were two from Haliat Armory, the first stating that my pre-ordered Stiletto would be available sooner than expected and the second apologizing in elaborate words that there were issues with my payment and I could suck on my toes and die (namely because my check turned out bad since the Alliance had closed my bank account).

There was also a circular note from Alexa, a N7 team mate and one from Garrus. I skipped Alexa's, checking the date on Garrus' message. It was the day the Collectors had attacked the Normandy.

+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+

**_Subject: Re: Heads-up  
Sent by Garrus Vakarian 08/17/2183, 10:12 AM_ **

_Shepard,_

_I will do my best to hold on to my sanity. Although on some days it feels like fighting a Colossus with a flash bang… You get the satisfaction to strike home, but in the long run you make zero impression. You're right, Tayseri Ward is still burning, and the C already tries to downplay the incidents… Incredible._

_Commander, it would be my honor to redeem the debt during your next stay. I've already spotted the perfect place - I've heard they even serve coffee imported from earth._

_Don't forget to watch your back._

_Garrus_

**_Subject: Heads-up  
Sent by Ivy Shepard, 08/15/2183, 1:34 AM_ **

_Hey Garrus,_

_I hope you're alright and Citadel's red tape hasn't driven you into madness so far. Just think about it as a chance to kick the beast from within... We're about to enter geth space, so I'll soon vanish behind another comm-block, but afterwards, I plan to return to the Citadel – I think we need to make some more noise. If we don't watch out the C will just sweep S and its disturbing agenda under the rug._

_Hope to meet you when I'm back. Remember, you still owe me lunch with 'magnificent view' and I fully intend to collect my winnings._

_One more thing: Something bad is coming our way... For days now I've this awful gut-feeling… Just watch out, okay?_

_Shepard_

_+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+_

His words made me smile and at the same moment depressed. How? How was I supposed to fix this mess?

The universe wasn't answering so I opened the message from Alex. Curious. I couldn't remember that she had ever mailed me after our ways had parted… The message was sent to one of N7's distribution list. I scanned it, a frown creeping into my face.

+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+

_**Subject: Footage Ceremony**   
**Sent by Alexa Milton 09/13/2153, 8:51 PM** _

_Hey guys,_

_I'm sure by now you've all heard the sad news about Shepard… Losing one of ours is always tragic, but I always felt she was special… I know some of you couldn't attend the memorial but the good elves at Alliance PR & Media division provided some footage. I've added the link._

_Hugs,_

_Alexa_

_+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+_

A memorial service?

I shook my head, feeling perhaps a little guilty. So far I hadn't thought too hard about what my death would have meant to the Alliance… and to the few people there who _had_ cared.

Would the link still work? And if it did; to watch or to watch not? My curiosity won. Yes, yes, curiosity killed the cat, but yeah, you already know what's waiting at that particular punch line.

The video was indeed still online. It started with a shot of the presidium then the camera switched to Anderson standing behind a speaker's desk. I had never seen him looking that… old. His speech was a straight and honest thing; just what I expected from the Captain. Perhaps a little stoic but then I couldn't really blame him. Despite all my shortcomings in the obedience department, I had turned into his most promising warden. And then the bitch had stolen away into the night…

Impassive, I watched the other speeches, most of them nothing but a conglomerate of empty phrases and affected dismay. You could have changed my name with that of any soldier the Alliance had lost on that day. Twice my finger twitched to close the video and twice I restrained myself. To say that watching your own funeral felt all seven kinds of weird didn't even begin to cover it, yet I couldn't help but wonder if those few people I had come to care about while serving the Alliance where there as well. I had already seen some of our N7 guys in a brief shot of the assembled crowd.

The speeches were at an end and the footage showed the picture of me that had been taken the day I was accepted into N7, accompanied by the first soft guitar chords of an old song fading in. The camera zoomed out, showing the picture was standing on a tripod next to a closed casket. A memorial plate had been placed on it; a few soldiers stepped forward saluting, the camera switched to a sea of homogeneous white and blue flowers where Kaidan was setting down another bouquet of white lilies, all while a man long dead and gone sang a heart-wrenching rock song about a girl buying a stairway to heaven.

This was… I didn't know what to make of it. Sure, it was touching on some level but then again it felt just wrong. This wasn't even remotely like me and… and next to all those meaningless bouquets, I spotted a patch of yellow. I rewound the video, zoomed in and... blinked.

Oh my god.

He had remembered.

After Virmire the crew had decided to hold a small ceremony for Ashley on the Normandy. We had drinks to her, remembered the moments we had together; had some more drinks… At the end of the evening there had been just me and Garrus sitting in the Mess in front of our glasses. Needless to say there had been way too many glasses.

" _I talked to Anderson earlier. They're going to hold a memorial service on the Citadel," I had said darkly._

" _Isn't that a good thing?" The turian sitting across the table from me had asked and given me his version of a raised eyebrow._

" _Have you ever seen an Alliance memorial service?"_

" _I… guess? Memorial plates, lots of white flowers and ribbons, high-ranking officers holding solemn speeches in front of horribly shot portrait photos…"_

_I snickered. "Exactly. Know one, and you'll know all. They claim it's for Ash, but do they give a fig that she loves Tennyson and hates flowers? No-ooo. Goddamn hypocrites," I cursed, my words slightly slurred. Thankfully Garrus was in no better shape. I sighed. "At least there's still her family, remembering who, and not just what she was…"_

" _Let's drink to that," Garrus said and rose his glass._

_So did I. "To you, Ash, frigging best GC I've ever seen."_

" _May your family always remember you with pride. You've been a hell of a shot," the turian admitted to my surprise._

_I grinned and resumed, "And if they don't, then there's still the Normandy crew to pitch in. You will get a big-ass memorial plate right here, on this ship and… and… no flowers. I swear."_

" _To Ashley."_

_We clinked our glasses and I savored the last sip of the bourbon that had cost me an arm and a leg. All of a sudden I felt strangely melancholic. No family would ever remember who I had been…_

" _Did she really hate flowers?" Garrus asked into my silence. "I find this hard to believe, Shepard. Certainly there's no woman in the galaxy who isn't at least a little inclined towards them. Ahh, under the right circumstances, I mean..."_

_I shrugged. "Yeah, perhaps. Whatever." I fished for the bottle of home-distilled vodka, Dubyansky had provided, and filled another glass. Nastrovje! The rough alcohol burned down my throat and languorous warmth spread through me, chasing away the darkness. Before I realized what I was doing, though, I heard myself muttering, "I like sunflowers..."_

_I blinked. Now, why had I said that?_

" _What's a sunflower?" The turian asked, helping himself to another drink as well._

" _A plant from Earth. It can be small or grow as tall as any krogan. They have huge round flower heads and with petals of this deep vibrant yellow. I like them, they…" I paused then added softer, "They always turn towards the sun..."_


	13. Twice bitten by Death, once kissed by Truth

Do what you, what you want  
Your world's closing in on you now (It isn't over)  
Stand and face the unknown (Got to remember who you really are)  
Every heart in my hands like a pale reflection

Do what you, what you want  
You don't have to lay your life down (Is it over?)  
Do what you what you want  
Till you find what you're looking for (Got to remember who you really are)

But every hour slipping by screams that I have failed you  
Hello, hello remember me?  
I'm everything you can't control  
Somewhere beyond the pain there must be a way to believe

_Evanescence - What You Want_

 

* * *

**~ Twice bitten by Death, once kissed by Truth ~  
**

In rapid succession my taped fists hit the punching bag and I finished the move with a classical roundhouse kick. My injured leg protested at the exercise but held stable. Barely.

A faint sheen of perspiration coated my skin, soaking the black tank top and the sweat pants I wore. It would have been nice to assess the extent of all those Cerberus add-on's a little better, but no one was willing to pitch up against me. That is, Tali and Thane weren't exactly in the condition to risk injuries and the biotics were out as well – nobody seriously trained hand-to-hand combat anymore if they could tear an arm off with a flick of their wrists. Taylor had merely given my leg a pitiful look before he stated that he would not rile the anger of the Doc just to entertain me and Massani had simply laughed. Because he only did mock fights if there were incentives involved. Yeah right. Not even in his wildest dreams. Besides, did I fancy another untimely end just because someone with a defect moral compass discovered latent fits of jealousy? I think not. Remained Grunt, but as I said, I wasn't harboring a secret death wish, thank you very much.

I resumed working on my forms. Jab, cross, jab, uppercut, side kick. Alright, perhaps this was me trying my best to ignore the fact that instead of bashing sandbags I should be somewhere else entirely. A few days ago the Illusive Man had sent a dossier for another "expert" (means kleptomaniac, with who-knows-what other twisted penchants). Yet after making the deal with Miss Goto this morning, I had returned straight to Normandy, went into hiding down in the hangar and was working out my ill-bred temper since then. If I never _ever_ had to set another foot on the Citadel, it still would be too early.

So… Perhaps this was pushing it at bit and I was just chickening out because I really sucked at all this interpersonal let's-have-a-talk-stuff. And perhaps Tali had all the right in the world to sniff at me, saying without any words that I was making an utter fool of myself, but I swear to god, hell would freeze over twice before I was chasing after Garrus-fucking-Vakarian like some moonstruck idiot!

I kicked the bag hard enough to hurt my knuckles. I sooo should have known it. Things were _always_ getting ugly as soon as you allowed those fucking ties to grow.

The elevator's doors opened behind me. I refused to interrupt my workout. Footsteps approached and I grimaced but kept striking at my targets. Maybe I could simply will the unbidden spectator into leaving?

Something heavy hit the floor with a loud thud. With a deep breath to contain my annoyance, I came to a halt, brushing the damp strands of hair that had escaped the ponytail off my face with my arm.

I turned around. Proud that my calm mask didn't betray any of the incoherent turmoil of relief, joy, and irritation that surged up inside me.

"So... you're back?" I asked plainly and perhaps a tad indifferent. Oh yeah, Commander Shepard, master of conversation.

With another thud the turian's second bag hit the floor.

"One condition," Garrus said gravely. "We talk. Now."

**.~'*'~.**

The turian circled me, his expression a curious mix of anger and, well, anticipation. Where fighters like Thane or Kaidan moved with the dancing grace of martial arts experts, Garrus just eradiated the plain precision and deadly efficiency of a hunter on the prowl. His gaze sharpened and suddenly all of the sniper's attention was focused solely on me.

"Why Shepard?" He asked collected, but the small twitches of his hands gave away his irritation. "It was my call to make, not yours."

"Your call?" I exclaimed while turning to keep him in sight. "Is this all about soothing your irrational turian pride? About getting your way?"

"No, this is about you not being reasonable."

" _I_ was unreasonable? What the… _You_ shot _me_ to make your frigging call!"

"Because _you_ forced my hand!"

Suddenly Garrus charged, feigning right and directing a punch towards my left shoulder. He hadn't put much strength into it and it annoyed me even more. Testing waters or not, this was just insulting.

"It was the right thing to do," I said stubbornly and blocked the lame-ass blow with my forearm.

Using the momentum against him, I slid along his arm, grabbed for his good shoulder and kicked at the hollow of his knee. His spurs were in the way and I missed the proper spot. The turian stumbled one step before regaining his balance.

He swirled around with a snarl. "Ohh, of course. The bloody right thing," Garrus spat in scorn, while his fist came for my stomach. He had reach, but I was faster. I dodged backwards and he missed.

"Yeah. The _bloody_ right thing. But _you_ just won't see," I hissed and went on to attack his unguarded right side.

The last instant I switched to the left, bracing myself for the impact. Just because he was wearing a shirt and pants instead of armor, he was still, well, turian. My switch had cost me speed, though. Garrus sidestepped and hit my back hard enough to send me to the floor. I felt it only remotely. The pain was someone else's pain. I rolled over my shoulder and sprang back to my feet, hands raised defensively. Somewhere along the way I had lost my hair band. Loose strands were falling into my face and I tossed my head to get them out of my sight.

"Do you ever stop for a moment and listen to yourself?" He asked in a low menacing voice, almost cracking with disharmonies, while stalking towards me just like the angry predator he was. "What if it would have been _your_ friends? What then? Look at me and tell me you wouldn't have killed him then!"

I stiffened.

_No. Please don't go there…_

But it was too late.

_The moon, breaking through the clouds. Their glazed dead eyes looking at me from beaten bodies; raped, then killed and tossed aside like rags. My hand clenching on the blade's hilt. Hatred. Burning like hellfire; screaming until I heard nothing but its distorted cries for bloody vengeance. And then the rage consumes me. I smile. Eyes transfixed on the killers, I step out from the shadows and into the moon's pale light…_

The punch to my rip cage made me gasp; the sharp pain forcing the memory away. He probably bruised one of my rips - I was grateful for it. I blocked his second blow and countered with a hook that made him raise his arms in defense. My right fist flashed towards his chest. Somehow he anticipated the move and was quick enough to disengage and catch my hand with his. I had put all I had behind the blow and for a moment it seemed his arm would buckle at the impact. The slight widening of his eyes was the only indication of surprise he gave and all the warning I got. He pushed back. I held against, looking straight into his icy eyes.

"You… have _so_ no idea…" I said under my breath, his sinewy but strong fingers trapping my hand in an iron grip.

For a few more heartbeats we were at a stalemate; too strained to talk, too engaged to look away. Just like me Garrus threw in everything he had, refused to yield just one inch… It gave this sparring match a new dangerous and oh-so exciting edge. My brain swam in a soup of adrenaline and endorphins; a thrilling sensation building up in me. Damn, but I loved to fight. Needed it. The exertion that pushed my body to the limits. The meditative emptiness of mind that came with it. The small moment in which everything seemed connected; in which _I_ was finally whole again…

Suddenly, my muscles started to tremble. Lazarus had increased my strength yet it still wasn't enough. For a very short moment I considered tipping the scale with my biotics, then dropped the idea, not trusting the rather crude control I had managed to develop. Besides, I'd have rather shot myself in the kneecap before I let the turian call me a cheat. No, I simply had to wear him out first. My stamina had always been better than his. Now, with all the Cerberus implants working in me, it seemed endless.

Slowly, I reduced the pressure allowing him to push closer. Garrus complied and my left fist slammed into his solar plexus. My knuckles felt as if I had punched a brick wall. Any human would have gone down out cold, but he just doubled over with a grunt, releasing my hand. Staring at me with an unfathomable expression. For a heartbeat I thought I saw his mandibles twitching into the ghost of a smile, but it was gone so quickly, I wasn't even sure if it had really been there.

And then the turian lunged for me.

I dove to the side, pivoted low and swept away his footing. With a curse, he crashed down sidelong. I jumped up, grinning smugly to myself – until his hand clasped around my right ankle. And pulled. I struggled for half a second, then my injured leg gave out and I dropped forward, barely cushioning my fall with my arms. Dammit! I had to get away _now_ or he would have me at a disadvantage. Instinctively, I twisted around and drove my elbow back. It connected with his chest, sending a jolt up my arm and into my shoulder. He exhaled with an 'oof' and went for my arms.

The lines between clean, civilized combat moves and common brawl blurred as each of us wrestled for the upper hand. We've been through this dance before, alright, back on the old Normandy. It was as if _they_ had been two completely different people. The turian's face was the usual mask of deep concentration, but now there was also this savage edge shimmering through. One that – despite my anger – made me think of heated bodies and naked skin and shivers of sweetest pleasure. From there my mind skittered straight into the gutter with me, and when he had me on my back and suddenly leaned in, I thought for a second he would hold down my hands to run his tongue over the side my throat. Oh boy.

_Are you fucking insane, Shepard?_

I quickly tucked up my knees, bringing them between us and pushed him off me. He landed on his ass growling something about 'insane flexibility'.

Much faster than I would have ever expected Garrus was back on his feet. He grabbed me in the middle of standing up and shoved me face-first against the wall, my right arm locked on my back in some rather painful C-Sec hold. I kicked against his shin with my heel but he just shifted his grip and trapped me with the complete length of his body. Caught! Caught like a bloody rookie on her first training day! And no, _this_ wasn't the least intimate – because my shoulder threatened to pop out of the joint any second, you insensitive perverts!

"Stop hedging my questions, Shepard," Garrus suddenly said surprisingly calm, now that he had me cornered. The disharmonies returned to their normal timbre. "I want to know why. Why did you try to stop me? What about him is so damn important to you that you betray me for it?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I growled strained. Anger was churning in me once more. At him. At myself. At this blasted universe that had nothing but pain and misery to offer. "That's what you're thinking? Do you really believe I'm here just to _betray_ you? To get things my way? Am I that shallow?! This…" I snarled and twisted my neck. "…is eating you up! You're turning into some cold-blooded sonovabitch, driven by nothing but sheer hate and force me to FUCKING WATCH!"

That last I yelled. I didn't care. I just wanted to get rid of the sick feeling that uncoiled inside me. He eased his grip and I turned to face him. He wasn't withdrawing, though.

"So, yeah," I said, staring up at him defiantly from barely a foot's distance, clenching my fists at my side. "It's the soul of Garrus Vakarian; soldier, sniper, vigilante and not to forget apex idiot, that's so goddamn important to me."

All of a sudden, it was as if a haze was lifting from him. Surprise, anger, guilt. Somehow I could pinpoint each emotion that was jumbling through his mind, although there was only the tiniest change in his expression. Was it really less than a year ago - three in his case - since we met in front of the Council Chambers; he, exasperated by Pallin's unreasonableness, and me, amused that a _turian_ was rebelling against the system?

Garrus exhaled. "I see," he said slowly.

I see? I _frigging_ see? I waited for more but nothing came.

Suddenly he brushed with his thumb over my bare arm. His shot's graze glared at us in its reddish glory. For all his thick, claw-tipped fingers, it was a surprisingly gentle touch. My heart skipped a beat upon the contact. An odd tingle spread. I shivered; and it had nothing at all to do with the chilly hangar air that was cooling my damp skin.

"Now there…" He began. Then he dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry, Shepard. I should never have-"

Without thinking I lifted my hand and touched his mouth with my fingers, silencing him. "Me too…" I replied barely audible.

Garrus looked up once more and deep inside those endless blue glaciers something flickered.

Oh hell. I was in so deep I couldn't see the surface anymore.

"Just… let's not do this again, okay?" I added with a strained smile and snatched my hand away.

His skin had felt good. Perhaps a little rough. But warm. So warm…

"Deal," Garrus said and stared at his hand still holding on to my biceps. Then he released my arm, backed off a few steps and I wondered how it was possible to feel relieved and deprived at the same time. "Hey," he resumed, hesitant. "I… uhm… I need to go. I'm pretty sure someone messed up something with the Thanix, and… you know… I better check on her now, and not in the middle of a maneuver."

"Uh-huh. Calibrations." I observed dryly and crooked my brow in mockery. _This_ was at least something were familiar with.

"Yes. Right. Calibrations." Then he turned to pick up his bags, and added, "Oh, and your handwork…"

"What?" I asked and crossed my arms in front of me.

"It's sloppy."

"Sloppy?" I exclaimed, my eyes wide with indignation that was only halfway faked. "Alright, Vakarian, next time you're sooo going down..."

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

Clunk.

_Calibrations. Nice, Vakarian. Why don't you try a little harder to look like an idiot?_

Clunk.

My forehead hit the wall inside the elevator again, this time hard enough to make the sound reverberate through the cubicle. It had seemed like such a good and solid plan – just engage her in a fight, create a comfortable diversion that allowed us both to vent our anger freely. Perhaps shout a bit, dish out a few punches, get a bruise or two in exchange - all in all the quickest and most effective way to settle those kinds of differences.

… _and that_ you _have an unhealthy tendency to end up in bed with the women you spar is of course merely a coincidence…_

Perhaps it hadn't been such good idea after all.

Before I knew what was happening, the whole situation had morphed from measured and controlled into something that threatened to get out of my hands any moment (ah, as a matter of speaking, you see. In fact I had my hands quite full, which was likely the reason why things had started to keel over in the first place).

Clunk.

I needed a shower. A long cold shower to get my wits back together.

The elevator stopped and I almost ran into Tali.

"Keelah, Garrus," the quarian exclaimed. "You DO look terrible - I thought Joker was exaggerating again. You know he calls you 'Death warmed over'?"

"Why thank you, Tali, I missed you too." I replied wryly.

"Aww, that's not –" The mechanic stopped and gave me a quick hug instead. Followed by her gloved fist hitting my arm. "It's just there are people out here who worry about you. You promised to keep in touch…"

I battled the impulse to drop my head. "I know. I'm sorry. Things had been complicated. And messy. Yeah, definitely messy."

"I… heard it was a tight run on Omega… You're alright?"

"As alright as the like of me can get, I guess," I replied with a shrug.

From the corner of my vision I saw Lawson accompanying an unfamiliar dark clothed female figure towards the Port Observation deck. Something about the newcomer… I suppressed the urge to check my weapons. As if she had heard my thoughts, she turned around. A black hood was shadowing most of her features but she was clearly human. She looked me over as if assessing my threat level then her painted lips curved into a satisfied smile and she nodded to us before stepping into the room.

"Who's that hooded human?" I asked and gestured Tali to walk with me to the Main Battery.

"Kasumi Goto," Tali replied amused. "The newest unlucky expert the Illusive Man's credit chit roped into this suicidal adventure. A master at stealth, encryption and very keen with recovering valuables."

"A thief? Splendid."

Didn't the Illusive Man realize that there were only so many people with questionable dispositions one ship could suffer? Ah yes. He likely just didn't give a damn.

The quarian mechanic shrugged. "Well, she's the best, if rumors are to be believed. I don't know about you, but after facing Saren and the Sovereign I'd rather take all the help I can get."

"Already met the cheerful alien lurking around the Engineering?"

"Keelah. That woman creeps me out."

"Yeah. I guess, for once Wrex was actually right: you _really_ don't know if the Normandy is a warship or a travelling freak show."

Tali chuckled. "Don't worry, Kasumi Goto at least seems nice enough, though. For a thief. And Shepard does trust her." She resumed pointedly.

I snorted. "Shepard always likes the insane ones best."

"Aha. Well _that_ certainly explains a lot," Tali said, her tone suspiciously smug. "I'm glad you overcame your _differences_. It's not the same if you're not with us…" she added and I had the uneasy feeling she was about to pry a little further what exactly had happened between the Commander and me. Better to steer her attention away from that topic. Very quickly, very far.

"You mean, you can't stand the thought that no one is shouting suicidal orders at me?" I asked lightly.

"Aww, you know me so well, Garrus."

"What about you? I heard you got boxed in by a geth platoon?"

"Uhh, that…" the quarian said, tugging at her fingers, as she always did when flustered. "It was actually merely a quick recon mission. Hop in, get the data, hop out. There had been no geth movements in this area for months." She sighed, her shoulders slumping down. "Six of my people dead and I still don't know if it was coincidence or if we tripped off some alarm because I was not careful enough… I don't know how Shepard is doing it. All the responsibility. Facing choices that are ALL bad…"

"Balance," I suddenly heard myself say. "To be a good commander you need find the right balance between commitment and detachment. Too much commitment and the responsibility is crushing you eventually. Too much detachment and your team will fail if you need them the most. Besides, most choices in battle are tough. Being in command just means that yours are much more inclined to bite you in the ass afterwards."

She mulled it over for a moment then nodded, her posture growing a little straighter. "Well… Perhaps you're right. Now, if it only would make writing those letters a little easier…" She sighed again then poked at me with her finger, "Hey, I've always known you were just pretending to be just another soldier."

I grimaced at her observation. But what good was all the decoration and all the special training, if those who trusted that you wouldn't let them down, were rotting in their graves?

Shepard's voice through the intercom saved me from the answer. "Everybody in the Comm Room in ten. We have news that a turian patrol encountered a Collector vessel."

**.~'*'~.**

"I have a bad feeling about this."

I heard Shepard murmur and turned away from Tali, who wrenched off the housing of a strange looking console, revealing a thick harness of wires underneath, to find the Commander staring down the dark, narrow aisle we had come through.

I couldn't agree more. The Collector's ship was a disturbingly seamless blend between organic looking growth and advanced tech. The dim ambient illumination was only breached by the puddle of pinkish light that radiated from the spherical combat drone hovering over Tali's shoulder. It revealed even more unnerving details that would have better been left shrouded in shadows. Tubes and wires, melting into floors and ceilings as if grown there. Pearls of condensed moisture glistered in the pale light; giving the knobby, segmented walls even more resemblance to some gigantic carcinoma-covered visceral cavity. It even smelled like just that, like an infested wound, slowly rotting away the flesh around it. That we had stumbled over more than just a few human corpses on our way in was hardly improving the situation.

Impossible to believe that I had actually volunteered for this.

"It doesn't make sense," the human Spectre went on from her sentry post. "If the ship was abandoned, why are the life-sustaining systems working? Where are the hull breaches? The little damage we've seen can't be all the turian frigate managed to inflict…" She craned her neck and looked at me. "Or have you noted anything?"

I shook my head. "No. Besides, if it truly was all, there would be _some_ remains of the frigate instead…"

I heard a female snort from my left, where Jack was weaving a small biotic sphere through her fingers, the way I had often seen humans do with coins - especially when pretending they were totally at ease. I wasn't buying her show. According to her pinched features the biotic probably would have rather been back on the Purgatory, enjoying the Blue Sun's hospitality, instead of getting dragged through an eerie alien ship.

Then Jack said, "Oh, I've just the explanation for you smart-asses: The bastard lied."

"How will _you_ know?" Tali asked; her words crisp and accented, the upper half of her body hidden inside the open console. Well, it wasn't as if those things came with a standard serial port.

The ex-convict shrugged, letting the sphere disappear with a small wave of her hand. "Easy. His lips were moving."

The quarian snickered and a loud hum suddenly emanated from the console. Startling all of us. Well, almost all.

"Bosh'tet." Tali cursed softly, then said louder, "Sorry. Should have warned you."

"You got a connection?" Shepard asked and walked over to us.

"Almos… Ah, yes!"

The console started to boot with a happy chirp and the quarian mechanic got up, punching a short sequence into her omni-tool.

"EDI? You're in?" Shepard asked.

"Yes."

"Okay. Check for anything that looks important; locations, pass codes, weaponry, prothean connections."

"Understood, Commander."

"Do you really think the Collectors are prothean husks?" I asked Shepard, eyeing the walls once more. This wasn't even remotely like Ilos.

She shrugged. "It's what the Professor believes, and to be honest, with what we have seen so far… The Reapers have human husks. Why not make some from other species as well? Especially from one they already subdued and wiped out."

I sighed. "Right. Why is it that every time I think we've seen the worst, something even more perverse and ill-tempered waits just around the next corner?"

"Shepard. I found something." The AI suddenly said. She sounded troubled. Not good. "Based on the energy signature this is the same ship that attacked Horizon. The flight data also indicate that this vessel had passed through the Omega-4-Relay and traveled to the Amada System 26 months ago."

"Wait," Tali said, suddenly agitated. "The Omega-4-Relay? No ship has ever returned from there… Shepard, we have to find out how they do it!"

However, my attention was drawn to another piece of information. The Amada System. That meant… Alchera. I exchanged a glance with the Commander, whose face had paled.

"Screw me…" she said softly. Then she spat, "It's _them!_ They destroyed the Normandy! They killed my Crew!"

Jack and Tali were now watching her as well, but before anyone could comment, a loud hum went through the vessel.

"That… wasn't me…" Tali said uneasy.

"Uh… Commander, can we postpone this?" Jeff interrupted. "The ship's powering up. You need to get your asses out before the weapons are online!"

"Major groups of energy signatures are coming your way!" EDI added.

Sometimes the corner is even closer than you thought.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

"This way!"

I shouted over the ear-piercing shrieks of the Collector horde behind us and skittered down the narrow, sickly alive looking corridor EDI had opened up for us. Despite the advanced cyber-warfare suite the AI struggled with gaining control of even the most rudimental functions. It was almost as if the ship had a will of its own - and it was all set on trapping the four of us in this Gigeresque nightmare.

 _Harbinger_ , I thought with a grimace and ran a little faster, ignoring the ache that pulsed in my left leg. Ahead of me a small cluster of Collectors came into view. I raised my gun and toppled the first with a shot at its kneecap. I popped out the empty heat sink. It had been my last. Jack's biotic wave tossed the rest of this group to the ground, and we quickly passed the stunned insects. There was really no point in bunking down anywhere and get rid of the increasing number of pursuers. It would only delay us, up to the very point where EDI couldn't hamper with the ship's controls any longer and its cannons would tear the Normandy apart. Again. Not going to happen. Not on my watch.

Thankfully the Reapers bred the average Collector drone barely smart enough to pull a trigger and even Harbinger's appearances grew more and more infrequent. Having EDI's presence in there as well seemed to mess severely with the Reaper's possession routines. Still, without the chaos that derived from the multitude of disorganized groups stumbling about, our chances to get out alive would have been disheartening slim.

Oh yeah. If we got out of this alive… As much as I enjoyed the mental image of punching the Illusive Asshole in the teeth for fucking me over – again – I had to stay focused.

Had the Collectors closed in further on us? Worried I glanced over my shoulder. Garrus held our pace with ease, but Jack and Tali were slowly but surely wearing out. As tough as they were in combat they just weren't trained to run at full speed through an alien ship-maze for who knows how long.

"Sh...prd." EDI's voice cracked through the radio. "Shu-uttle ...s ...strai...head."

A sharp bend in the tunnel gave way to a long downward slope that was vaguely familiar. The exit had to be near.

"Push! We're almost there!" Garrus shouted and raced past me.

My leg started to burn, each step sending a stabbing jolt up my body. I gritted my teeth.

"Keelah! They're coming!" Tali screamed panicked and I looked back. To where an image of dread unfolded.

I saw the quarian cast another drone that clashed into the first Collector coming around the corner and then she suddenly tripped, a red spot blooming on her shoulder. The Collector that had shot her dropped with a bullet in its head, yet it didn't kept Tali from falling as well. Fear reached out and grabbed me with icy fingers.

I made my decision within the space of one heartbeat.

I spun around and raced back. My thigh's muscles morphed into a knotted mass of pain. The moment I stopped running I would be doomed.

"MOVE!" I yelled and yanked Tali back to her feet. I gave her a push and the shot quarian resumed stumbling towards the shuttle.

I turned back. The least I could do was to buy them time.

I concentrated and pushed forward a Barrier. The raging insects crushed against a flashing wall of blue and silver. It almost sealed up the tunnel; bolts of lightning cracking along the edges. If I hadn't been busy fighting for my life I would have been deeply impressed.

Needles of strain were pricking inside my skull. Despite my increased skill I just couldn't channel so much energy without getting burned to cinder. Slowly my strength unraveled. I thought we had minutes. Turns out we hadn't even seconds.

I blinked and was down on one knee. My outstretched arms trembled. Sweat dropped from my upper lip. Or perhaps it was blood. I couldn't spare the energy to tell the difference. My body, my mind, my very existence got compacted into one command: hold the line.

I kept pushing against the enemy tide, clawing on with barely more than my finger nails.

I had to buy them time! I had to -

"Shepard!" Someone said and panic arose.

_No! I told them to move!_

"What do you think you're doing?" Garrus said, standing next to me.

"GO!" I hissed and turned my head to glare at him, but he _did not move_. Just watch the tide of enemies that pushed against my barrier. Watching and assessing. "Damn, Vakarian! It's a fucking _order_!"

For a short moment it appeared as if his turian nature would force him into obedience. Then his left mandible twitched, his jaw set. Stubborn idiot. "I won't let you die," he stated plainly and tightened the grip on his Vindicator.

No! My vision blurred. The needles in my head turned hot. Keeping my eyes open was too much to ask for. I sank down to the ground.

"Please..." I whispered, but it was impossible that he could hear me over all the noise.

_Great Shepard. This is it._

Sadness washed over me. I didn't want it to end. Not now; and certainly not like that. And do you want to hear the worst? Deep down I knew there was the power in me to save us. It mocked me, so tantalizingly close to my reach and still a million miles away.

 _Help me, Ivy_.

I pleaded softly to whatever was left of my soul. But there was no answer. I had tried to free her but she was still trapped too tightly in the prison my fear had built for her. And now I would die for it. No. _We_ would die for it.

No more second chances. No more stalling. Game over. Just like that.

I barely felt how the energy slipped away. I hugged myself, too exhausted to think straight. The sadness was choking me. The barrier fell, the creatures screamed; and for the second time in my life I awaited death to come and drag me down to hell. Moments passed. Nothing happened. Why didn't they attack? I struggled against my lid's weight, prying my eyes open for a few seconds. The barrier was still in place. But... it was impossible.

"Fuck. Vakarian, get her up. Y'think I can hold on forever..."

Hands grabbed me, and all of a sudden I was on my feet once more. My cheek burned. Huh?

"Damn it, she's losing consciousness! I can't carry her and keep up the covering fire."

"My left pocket," Jack groaned strained. "Give her… a few of those."

I felt like moving and then Garrus said. "Here, Shepard, eat."

What? Why couldn't he let me sleep... But I complied. Something crunched between my teeth, the sound oddly grazing inside my head. I kept eating. Didn't want him to be mad at me. He'd put sunflowers on my grave...

"Alright. You're ready Jack?"

"Yeah."

"Let's move out then."

Hands reached out for me and then I was pushed into motion and pulled on. Gunfire blazed. Biotic blasts boomed. Funny, it was almost as if I could _feel_ them, building up, then getting released in waves of power. The monsters behind us screeched. At first it seemed impossible to get my feet of the ground but step by step I gained strength. The pain in my leg turned fuzzy. I quickened my pace until I was in a fast jog. I smelled ozone, its sharp metallic bite tickling my nostrils. My lids fluttered open. A faint pinkish film edged into my sight, but all that mattered was that we had cleared the slope and the shuttle was waiting. I didn't question why the Collectors hadn't felt the need to take it out. Or perhaps they just hadn't discovered its location. It didn't matter. It was just thirty paces away. Then twenty. Tali climbed into it, collapsing. Jack let go of my arm and with a shout, she released a last Shockwave. In fascination I watched how a blast of energy rippled up the slope, eating its way through dozens of creatures. Crippling limbs, tearing at muscles, crushing bones and carapaces.

Someone shoved me into the shuttle, but I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from the carnage that spread out before us. The doors closed, the shuttle lifted off, and still I stared transfixed at all those lives we have taken within minutes. Within seconds.

_But we are alive..._

I rubbed my eyes. Red blotches, almost like migraine spots had invaded my vision. I tried to blink them away, failed - then raised my hand to brush them off.

"Jeff! We're heading back! What's the status on their weapons?" Garrus asked.

Something told me it should have been me asking this question but it was kinda hard to focus my thoughts.

"90 percent. You better make this quick. EDI can't delay their systems much longer!"

"Heard that Hawthorne?" A female voice shouted and banged her fist against the wall behind her. "Get us the hell outta here! If we're getting BBQed, I come back and fucking kill you myself!"

"Hey, Jack. Always eager to boost the team's spirit."

"Fuck you, Joker!"

"Keelah… can't you just shut up… and let me die…" Another female voice murmured.

"Shepard? You're alright?" someone asked.

"Mh-hmm," I answered, still trying to catch those blasted spots.

From there I went haywire.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

Something was just not right with the Commander, sitting across from me in the shuttle.

Not only had Shepard been unusual silent since we snatched her out of her near blackout; she had also adopted an expression so vacant that I feared she would be happy with staring at a blank wall for the rest of her life.

Before I could worry further about her, the shuttle lurched hard to the left. I reached out to the side and caught Tali before she could fall out of the seat face-first. The injured quarian slumped back against the wall, groaning softly at every movement of the shuttle, but resumed pressing her palm to her shoulder to keep the blood from leaking at least from one hole. Hopefully the Doctor had the Med Bay ready. Through the open door leading to the pilot's cabin I could see the Normandy speeding closer. We would make it. One problem down, another to go.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked worried and waved my hand in front of the Commander's eyes.

Jack leaned over from her seat and peered at Shepard's face. Then she cursed. "Shit, how many cookies have you given her?"

"I don't know. Perhaps five or six?"

Arms crossed, the tattooed ex-con dropped back into her seat, grinning at me with so much malicious glee, it would have certainly worried me deeply if I hadn't already gotten used to her 'charms'.

"Oh, Vakarian, you are sooo screwed. She will have you scarred ass for this in the morning."

I stared at Jack, a bad presentiment creeping up on me.

"Shhhhh, not cookies," Shepard suddenly said, tripping over her words, gaze unfocused for a moment. Then she winked at me conspiratorially. "It's high nuti-irition field rations, y'know?"

The Commander started to snicker and I glared again at the bald-headed maniac who was still too amused for my likings. "Do you think this is funny?"

The insufferable woman shrugged. "Relax, Vakarian. She's a biotic. Her metabolism can handle a red trip."

I didn't convince me. Oh no, I wasn't convinced at all. But I also couldn't see that arguing with her would get me anywhere. Abruptly, the shuttle rocked to a halt inside the Normandy's air lock, the hatch closed behind us and with a slight shift in gravitation, the Normandy engaged her FTL jump.

**.~'*'~.**

"Can't _you_ do anything for her?"

I asked Solus, while keeping a careful eye on the Commander, who was so far content to sit still all geared up on the floor in front of the caged Seeker, snickering softly about something no one would probably even begin to understand.

The salarian rubbed his chin in thought. Since Dr. Chakwas had turned the Med Bay into a makeshift clean room to stich Tali up without giving the quarian a deadly infection in the process, the notorious Professor who had the guts to run a clinic in the middle of Omega's plague-infested no man's land, was our best shot. I didn't care that Jack had never grown tired of pointing out how ridiculous my worries were. If not for Shepard showing up, I would have died that fateful day on Omega – I was bound by my honor to make sure she was alright.

 _Of course, Vakarian. It's solely about returning a favor. Has nothing to do_ _**at all** _ _with the fact that a certain Spectre is haunting your dreams…_

"Hmm. Could administer sedative..."

Despite the mental lockdown, _that_ made Shepard's head whip around. She shot the salarian a fierce glare, only emphasized by the smeared dark Collector-blood on her face. Right. He'd likely lose more than just his fingers trying.

"… or just advice patience and sleep. Cerberus implants should enhance metabolizing of the toxic substances sufficiently," Solus added quickly.

The Commander snorted and resumed hawking the Seeker in its tiny glass box.

"Alright then, I'll bring her into her cabin." I nodded to Solus then stepped towards Shepard. I took her arm and motioned her to get up.

She just blinked at me sluggishly. "Huh?"

"Let's get you some rest, okay?" I pulled her up, then shifted my hold on her arm, steadying her wobbling stance.

"Mh-hmm… Sleep…" she replied and I started to steer her towards the door, but she wiggled herself from my grip. "Lemme go. I'm not an invalid, y'know?"

I looked back to where the salarian was shrugging at me as if saying, 'Could have told you so' and with a sigh I followed the stubborn Commander out.

To her credit, she wasn't an invalid right until the elevator's doors closed behind us. There she suddenly went limp and dropped heavily against me. In reflex I slung my arms around her and I hit the wall with my back, catching my balance there. I couldn't prevent her from bumping her head against my armor, though.

"Sorry," I winced, but she just slurred against my chest. It sounded awfully like something about Mordin's mating request.

Then she started to giggle. _Giggle_. This was getting better and better. Blasted convict with her blasted drugs.

The elevator stopped and since I was a) unsure if she could cross the distance on her own and b) nobody was watching anyway, I swept her up, once more surprised how much lighter than a turian she actually was. Her neck and legs dangled down my arms and I flinched. Last time I carried her like that… in a flash the harsh memory was back.

_The Thorian, leashing out in its death throes. Shepard writhing in agony on the ground, a quivering brownish tendril sticking out from her stomach. Tali yelling at Liara to fix her. Liara yelling at Tali that she has merely a doctor in archeology. Me, fighting this oppressive feeling in my chest, something between anguish and sheer desperation. I hack off the tendril, pick her up and she locks her eyes with mine. Finding somehow the energy to groan, "Leave… It's 'kay… Let… me… die..."_

It wasn't the first time I defied an order but certainly one of those I deem most important. So we saved her. And left so many others for death in exchange that day. Above all the colonists of Zue's Hope. We had no time to come up with some sophisticated plan that included sparing their lives. Still affected by the Thorian's neurotoxin, they had attacked, and we, we had simply slaughtered them down on our run back to the Normandy. Not even Alenko or Ashley had objected. Because otherwise, Shepard would have just as simply died in my arms.

I recalled the conversation I had with Tali earlier. Was Shepard actually feeling responsible for the colonist's deaths? It was an odd notion; I had learned a long long time ago that tragic casualties were in the nature of warfare. You accepted the things you couldn't change and moved on, but humans – they were never content until they saved everyone.

 _Maybe we_ _**should** _ _have tried harder to save Zue's Hope…_

I pushed the conflicting thought away and stepped into her quarters, inwardly shaking my head. This was my second visit aside from the one I had with the welcome-aboard tour and – empty or not – I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that someone at Cerberus would actually authorize an aquarium on a space ship. And yet... I couldn't help but admit that aside from the concept dedicated to a maximum waste of space and resources, this certainly was a comfortable and stylish place to stay. I mean, your own armory is all nice and well, but a private bath cabin? That's the real deal.

I carried her down the few stairs, looking around. Alright, maybe it was a bit sterile. Compared to Shepard's old cabin on the SR1, this one definitely lacked a certain personal touch. Then I spotted two small black knives, wedged between mattress and bed frame. I chuckled. Well, this at least was _very_ Shepard.

I glanced at the bed with its pristine white sheets, then down at the Commander in her dirty, blood-splattered armor. I opted for the dark leather couch. Quickly. Before that _other,_ questionable notion would seem to me like a smart idea. Things were already complicated enough. Better to avoid anything that had showers in it.

I put her down. She had closed her eyes, an almost peaceful expression on her face. Good. Dr. Chakwas would see to her later, anyway.

"Rest, my friend," I mumbled with a relieved sigh. Damn. This felt too much like dodging a bullet.

I straightened and turned. Yes. I shouldn't linger any longer. I shouldn't… was that an Armax thermal scope on her desk? I picked up the scope. E44? That version wasn't even on the market yet. I grinned. Lawson and I were going to have a really serious talk about procurement. I placed the scope back and spotted a heavily dented human helmet that sat on the desk's far end. It definitely hadn't been here before. I leaned over and brushed over the charred ceramic plating. The cracked visor, stained rust-brown from the inside. Turning cold, I pulled back.

Damn it, Shepard.

This was _not_ healthy. Not even by turian standards.

"Hey… whatcha doin'?"

I gave a start and turned. Only, instead of laying on the couch, the Commander stood right in front of me. She tilted her head up, the black of her eyes dilated so widely only a narrow band of green remained. Not as terrifying as those life-sucking asari eyes but just as… confusing.

"Garrus-sss. You look serious…" The pale-haired human Spectre stated in a concerned voice. Then reached out and touched the undamaged side of my face. "Always so serious-sss..."

I closed my lids and allowed the moment to linger. It felt good. Her concern. Her touch. Her proximity. Too good, and it should not have. Damn it!

My eyes snapped open. Just in time to watch her gaze shift into something dangerous. Gloved fingers ran along my jaw and down my neck. I suppressed a shiver and caught her hand.

"Don't," I said, my voice rough from the tempest that boiled inside. "You don't know what you're doing…"

A predatory light flashed at the objection, and it was exactly the moment I realized I was facing an uphill battle. She snaked her other hand around my neck and pulled herself up on her toes, bringing her face close to mine.

"I do…"

Two words. Just two tiny words. Husky. Seductive. It was the sexiest sound I had ever heard from her and it sliced straight through my defenses, uprooting all those little dark fantasies I believed to have buried too deeply to cause any harm.

Guess I was wrong.

_Wanna play, Vakarian?_

And while I was too busy fending off the implications of that unhelpful thought, Shepard made her move.

Her mouth fastened on mine.

Logically, there was no reason why this should have incited any reaction at all. This was the human way of showing affection. Maybe also the asari's, but not ours. Not mine. Damn. What had become of me? I was drowning in a sea of should's and should not's, and it felt more right than anything of late. Because in reality… the sensation of her lips short-circuited my brain. Stiffened every muscle.

I inhaled sharply and instantly regretted it. Her physical proximity was bad enough, but now she was also boarding my second line of senses. Only this time it wasn't the clean, faint herbal scent I identified with the pale-haired Spectre, but something much more alluring - Shepard smelling of combat. Of sweat, guns and heat sinks; all mixed with an acrid trail of ozone, like lightning in a cloudless sky.

_You really, really shouldn't have done this, little Spectre..._

Indeed. I squeezed my eyes shut. This was madness. And yet… Zue's Hope. Alchera. I hated the reminder. Hated that I already lost her once and since she got back… Too many close calls. Too many fights she entered just a bit too fast, just a bit too fierce. Reckless. Uncaring if she lived or died.

An icy fear stabbed my heart and I held on to her with a sheer desperate fervency. Savoring that she was here and we were alive. I dared not to twitch. Dared not to breathe. Anything to dwell within the illusionary enchantment just a little while longer.

Right until her lips started to move.

Faint and hesitant, a slow, pulling sensation built up against my skin. It felt alien and intriguing the same, while her motions rapidly gained intensity. She wedged her hand from my grip. Gloved fingertips pressed against the back of my neck, holding me tight. Heat flushed my skin like a fever pitch. I struggled with my body's balance and my thought's coherence. Cursing and blessing in turn the fact that neither of us had switched out of the armor, which now separated us like a wall of carbon fiber and metal.

I reached for her shoulders. Wrong. Human. Soft. Fragile. Mistake. Horrible horrible mistake. My mind yelled at me while my body tried really hard to convince me otherwise. Until… Her tongue slipped out, pushing its way roughly towards mine.

Spirits. This was killing me.

The aching need to give in was so raw and primal, so forcible in its command… In front of my mind's eye I saw another version of myself ripping through her armor, burying my face in the hollow of her neck, tasting her skin… More.

_Look at her! This is wrong!_

I forced the image away, clawing to that last remaining bit of resolve and self-disgust like a falling man to a rope.

_It's a lie! Nothing but!_

The painful truth pierced through the haze of lust and smothered the heat.

Because ultimately none of this was real. _She_ didn't want me. The Red Sand did. She was just high as kite, her fierce reaction nothing but the deceptive byproduct of drug-induced neediness. I was her friend, damn it! What worth had my honor and all my promises if I wasn't even able to protect her from ourselves? If I let this much darker side of mine take advantage of her state? If I allowed Archangel to destroy us with his cravings?

My fingers flexed on her shoulders. As gentle as possible, I pushed her away, an old practiced calm finally soothing the turmoil within. Holding her at arm's length I said, "Please, Shepard. You're not reasonable…"

No reply. For a long dreadful moment she didn't even react at all. And there I stood holding my breath like an idiot, waiting for an outburst that never came. I searched her expression for anything, and all I found was the same closed-off stoicism I had seen her don so often in the past. If not for her pupils wide as saucers she would have seemed frighteningly lucid. Without another word the Spectre broke free of my grip, unclipped her guns, slammed them on the desk next to the scope and stalked off and up the stairs. The door of the bath cabin closed behind her.

I relaxed and left her quarters. It was better that way. The Commander's anger was a small price to pay for deflecting the cataclysmic fallout of the alternative.

Yeah. Too bad the thought utterly failed to bring comfort.


	14. Beast Within

Swept under my carpet  
underneath my bed  
I push away the demons  
From the darkest corner of my head  
An ever growing hatred  
Of what I've come to be  
Have I become a monster  
Is a monster killing me

It's time I exorcize  
Demons In my mind  
No hatred in my eyes  
What's inside me?

I can feel my mind letting go  
Burn my face to let you know  
With these wounds I can't hide  
I exorcize what's inside

_Sacred Mother Tongue – Demons_

* * *

**~ Beast within ~  
**

It's my distinct impression that the universe just loved to rub it in.

Leaning against the Mess' counter, I waved Gardener and his plate of whatever he tried to pass off as breakfast away. No thanks. I already felt sick to the bones.

Neglect of duty. Conduct unbecoming. Drugged-up to the eyeballs. Sexual harassment - just to give my list of derailments that special touch. This was a disciplinary nightmare - and without the mental blackout to blur the shameful edges. Of course.

Yup, positive outlook, my ass.

Datapad in hand, I listened to Gabby and Kenneth, who sat at the table ranting about a lost crimptool, and watched Kasumi Goto watching the breakfasting crew from her seat on the stairs leading to the Main Battery. The thief turned her head in my direction. I angled for the coffee mug behind me. Uhg.

I sipped on my coffee and browsed once more through my datapad, checking status reports and messages at random. If anything, it made me look tremendously busy. Provisions and gear at 90 percent. EDI was still working on deciphering the bulk of heavy encrypted data we had salvaged from the Collector ship. Another Cerberus errand that required our presence somewhere at the ass end of the Terminus Systems. Miranda had flagged it important. I replied and closed the message with a sigh. Maybe it was for the better that my condition last evening had prevented me from confronting the Illusive Maniac about the falsified turian signal. No matter how much I despised it, as long as we had no lead on the Collectors I was caught on a Cerberus ship with a Cerberus Crew, all supported by a powerful Cerberus AI. It didn't matter that everyone on the Normandy including Miranda apparently liked to pretend this was my ship. Not as long as we were still running on Cerberus resources. Damn. I hated feeling trapped and the one person I trusted the most…

Oh, that's right. I drove him off because I just _had_ to shove my dumb tongue down his throat.

Peachy. Just… peachy. Garrus and I really had something good here. A friendship built on mutual respect, banter and trust; hardened by hours of battle and guarding each other's backs. Not at all like those little dysfunctional relations I've been so familiar with. This had never been about using each other just to sate some pathetic need or to sooth a million irrational fears. No, what I had with the turian sniper was something solid and real. Comforting for its predictability and its clearly defined boundaries etched so firmly into the concrete.

Exciting, when we danced along the dangerous edge of the line.

Yeah, and I screwed it up. Again. Worse, I couldn't even blame my actions merely on some drug-induced delirium. Because Red Sand or not, this idiocy would have never happened if deep inside hadn't been this other me that undeniably wanted to run me over the cliff.

And heaven help me, she had wanted it with every freaking fiber of her being.

Oy. This wasn't just rock bottom. This was rock bottom buried below twenty tons of crap.

I peered at the Med Bay over the edge of the datapad. The privacy tinting had been activated, turning the windows basically into a one-way mirror. I knew it was a good sign that Tali was fit enough to have visitors and the turian had any right to avoid me, but did he have to be so eager to leave? Any faster and he would have been running from me. Literally.

Vexed, I gave up on pretending to study the pad. This was getting me nowhere.

I smiled Mess Sergeant Gardener into refilling my coffee and moved towards the Japanese woman. Kasumi balanced one of Miranda's delicate white tea cups on her fingertips, a small knowing smile on her violet lips. I could have smacked the amusement off her porcelain-smooth face.

She tilted her hood-cowered head at me just so, and all of a sudden the sight of the black-clad thief triggered a half-forgotten childhood memory; slowly drifting towards the surface like a pocket of air trapped in a tar pit. Another woman; not of Asian, but Northern heritage. Her face shadowed by the cowl of her unadorned black clothes, but still wearing a smile on her face as she shifted the weapons belted to her waist and kneeled down. Smiling, despite the tear sliding down her cheek. Smiling at the ten-year old girl, who was fervently hanging on and didn't want to let her go.

Smiling at me.

I dropped beside Kasumi and I closed my eyes briefly. Damn. I used to have a better grip on myself. Dwelling on my childhood and especially my adolescence was unhealthy to say the least. Too many demons. Too many painful memories better left buried deep.

If not for Anderson…

The Alliance gave me a new home, an ID and a gun, and taught me to soldier on. Allowed me to pretend to be a woman without any past at all. To them I was just another ghost, someone whose "life" started with entering Alliance service. Looking at the hazy memory of my mother, the term seemed terribly ironic. She had been living off grid, maybe an assassin, maybe a thief, or maybe just a woman running afoul the wrong people. And that particular night… it was the last time I had seen her. And then she just vanished, knowing she would never return. I never learned why. Never learned what happened. Never learned her name…

I felt new fissure grow across the Shepard-shell and I forced the bitter thoughts away. I was vanguard.

_Vanguard. Ever push forward. Never look back. Remember?_

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Hey, how are you settling in? Something you need?" I finally heard Commander Shepard ask. At least I could count on that part of me working as it should.

"Oh, I'm fine," Kasumi replied in her husky, almost singing voice. "Thank you. I have to admit this is actually a nice and refreshing experience."

I suppressed a snort. "You sound surprised."

"I am. See, I usually prefer to work alone. Less distractions, less drama, less – ah, you know." She chuckled. "But had I known beforehand that the company would turn out to be this interesting... I even might have considered giving our Mr. Illusive a discount for my service."

She made a small humming noise and I followed her gaze. Which landed straight on Jacob's – admittedly – well-toned buttocks, just before they vanished behind the wall dividing the Mess. I pinched the bridge of my nose. Oh goodie. Perhaps it wasn't too late to rename the Normandy for a second time. SSV Perverseness, reporting for duty.

I cleared my throat. "Just wait until you see them in action..."

The thief snickered into her tea.

"The Crew. I'm talking about the Crew." Idiot.

"Yes. I have the feeling that travelling with you is going to be a most enlightening venture."

"Enlightening as in being chased around by a hungry thrasher maw? Or rather as in getting obliterated by evil space squids? I fear there's an equal chance for both."

She turned to me, her lips twitching. "You're funny, Shep. What I mean is there's this… aura around you. It draws the people, makes them confide in you, regardless how bleak or dark the prospects. And then I look into their faces and I can see it. They _all_ trust in you, even those who usually believe in nothing but themselves. Very fascinating." Her smile widened to expose even white teeth. "Oh, and I bet it wouldn't even matter if you were born an elcor. They would still flock to you and believe. Fas-ci-na-ting."

"Uh-huh." _With self-confident emphasis 'I am Commander Shepard. Surrender or be surrendered.'_ Oh boy.

"See for yourself," the thief said and nudged my attention towards the Justicar striding forceful towards us; those nine-century old asari boobs bouncing in a way that could give any girl a complex about her connective tissue. Mother Nature had a twisted sense of humor indeed **.** Then I noted the stony expression plastered on the asari's face.

"Shepard." Samara began gravely. "I have a favor of you to ask…"

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

As chance would have it, I walked into the Med Bay just when the Doctor finished the examination of Tali's injury.

She sat on the bed farthest away from the entrance and behind the transparent plastic of the small clean room tent Dr. Chakwas had set up around the bed. While the Doctor sorted her instruments on a tray near the bed, the quarian was busy checking her omni-tool, head inclined, the cowl of her suit pushed back, a bony bandage shoulder exposed. The visor of her mask sat beside her.

It never failed to amaze me that below their masks, quarian faces resembled an intriguing blend between female turian and human features. Tali's skin was of a pale, slightly grayish violet, with her human-like lips a few shades darker than the rest. Like most of our women she had a narrow, pointed chin and high cheekbones. On a turian it would have been delicate, without mandibles and facial plating she looked almost too fragile to touch.

With a small start the quarian mechanic noticed me. Her mouth formed a small surprised 'oh' and her hand darted out for the mask.

My face warmed and I cringed, realizing way too late that I was intruding on her privacy like an uncivilized idiot – the masks _were_ made to obscure their features, clearly there was more to it than just a medical condition. I wanted to turn away. I really did. But… damn. I never had the opportunity to put an actual face to my friend, and the only unmasked quarians I'd ever seen with my own eyes had been corpses.

The tilted big eyes above her small nose were almost human or asari in shape, yet despite of what their mask's glow suggested, her amber irises were set against a black sclera, not white. Like Shepard she had those exotic, oddly shaped cartilages for ears, only the quarian's were curved differently and had longer lobes. Similar to a turian's, her forehead stretched back into three small and pointy bone crests. They gave way to black hair-like extensions, braided into thick strands that came down to the middle of her slim neck.

All too quickly though, her face was obscured once more, leaving me with a distinct sense of fascination – and a great deal of shame.

Clearly embarrassed down to her bones, Tali resumed to fuss with her omni-tool. Which caused Dr. Chakwas, covered up in scrubs, to turn around and frown at me over her green surgical mask. I sighed. My expertise told me exactly what that look meant. No need to hear my side; she just _knew_ it was my fault. How was this even possible? Female or not, she was an alien. Maybe it was something that came with their genome.

"You sit and wait," she said and pointed at the chair before her desk, "I'm with you in a moment, Garrus."

I nodded and sat down, wrecking my brain for some private piece of my life I could share with Tali later to make her feel less violated. Perhaps something from my childhood. Yes. No shortage of mortifying episodes to choose from there; a fact that mysteriously never failed to be a constant source of poorly hidden amusement to my beloved sister.

Through the tinted window I watched the Justicar approach Shepard and the thief. Both sat on the stairs leading to the Main Battery. They exchanged a few words and then Samara left the Mess with a thoughtful-looking Commander in tow.

Right. Funny how my paramount expertise on women was utterly useless when it came to her.

We really should have talked. Should have dispelled any possible misconceptions and put this incident behind us. I mean, she hadn't been herself and we were both all grown-up. Things like this happened. Nothing to it.

So why did we keep on acting as if nothing had happened, while both of us were perfectly aware that it was all pretense?

It made no sense. Worse, it caused this wary tension to grow between us, reminding me unpleasantly of the way one would regard the soldier on the other side of the fighting line right before the battle started. She couldn't possibly suspect how close I had come to losing myself, could she?

"Okay, Garrus," the Doctor disrupted my futile musings. "Shall we?"

**.~'*'~.**

Shortly after I sat on the Med Bay's second bed across from Tali, enduring the quarian's gaze on my scarred chest. She deserved the intimacy and I certainly deserved the unease. I winced at my reflection in the small mirror Dr. Chakwas had handed me. Clearly the mechanic had received the worse end of the bargain. Without the orthotics merciful covering, my face stared back at me in ragged disfigurement only a krogan would find attractive.

The thinner facial plating running along my jaw had been seared off; partly even to the bone. Dark scar tissue covered the right side of my face, from the back of my head and down to my badly frayed mandible.

I touched the lumpy patch of flesh and hardened skin that used to be a cheek. Well, the Doctor had tried to save at least something, and considering that the alternative would have been a rather unfashionable hole…

I gnashed my teeth. Of course I had known it would be bad. Unlike the rest, my head hadn't been protected by armor and the explosion had obviously caused the worst damage there. It was just…

Cerberus had managed to fix Shepard just fine and somewhere, deep down I had hoped… No. Better not to go there. I was turian, for crying out loud. Accepting what couldn't be changed was in my blood, damn it!

"Do you feel anything?" Dr. Chakwas suddenly asked, while watching me with too concerned eyes.

"Nothing. I-" I rubbed at the worst scar again and increased the pressure. There. A numb, distant ache. I almost sighed in relief. Some nerve endings had grown back. "Something's there. But faint."

I handed the mirror back and the Doctor stepped closer. "It's nevertheless a good sign. Frankly, I feared the tissue would be too damaged to regenerate even that far. May I?"

I nodded, realizing that despite removing the orthotic, my hearing on the right was still off. Or better, more off than usual. Compromised hearing, the disease of my trade. That and getting another sniper's bullet between your eyes.

I stifled a curse and Dr. Chakwas stopped poking at my face. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah. Just noticed my hearing used to be better and- ah, don't mind. I shouldn't complain. I'm alive. It's all that matters. Thank you, Doctor."

"You're very welcome. We're done for now." She stripped off her gloves and broke into a good-natured smile. "You're a pleasant enough patient, Garrus, but I'd really appreciate it if you could stay away from missiles for the time being."

"Aye, Ma'am."

The human shook her head at my imitation of an Alliance salute and started cleaning up.

I fished for my shirt and the quarian chuckled, her accented voice as usual slightly distorted because of her mask. "As if you could trust any turian to keep his butt out of the firing line…"

"Seriously, Tali? A lecture from someone sporting a bullet hole in her shoulder?"

She shifted on her bed. "Hey, I'm just observing. Besides, I can count the time _I_ got shot on one hand." The Doctor cleared her throat and my quarian friend hastened to add, "Well, maybe two. But how many hands do _you_ need?"

"Too many," I growled under my breath.

"What was that?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Quarians. Likely their masks were in truth only made to hide their constant malicious joy. No wonder the geth went rogue. How could I possibly think her face was pretty in an alien but intriguing way?

"Actually – considering the company, he's doing quite fine," Dr. Chakwas added dryly.

I shrugged. "There you have it."

She threw up her hands. "Bosh'tet! That's ridiculous. Just because Shepard's even worse it doesn't mean –" The mechanic stopped and took a breath. "Keelah. I'm sorry. I just worry. You hear that, Garrus? I worry about you both."

"You… worry?"

"Of course I do."

"Well, remind me not to get on your bad side then."

She poked the air in front of her with her index finger. "You're an idiot, Garrus."

"And still you can't help liking me for it."

"Yah. That's just because I'm an idiot, too."

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

"Concentrate, Shepard. Open yourself to the force within…"

"I do!" I bite off through clenched teeth, my eyes squeezed shut in effort. Ah, yes. Dragging concentration out from its hiding place to bash its face into the ground was ma-y-be not the best way to tap your inner resources.

"No, you don't," Samara replied sternly but patiently. How she was able to maintain such calm with me as her student was a mystery. Must have been some asari-thing. "There is great potential in you, but just don't put your full attention here. Let us do this again. Empty your mind, reach out for the energy…"

Vaguely, I felt how the Justicar's smooth crooning voice made my thoughts swim. So, I had given Samara my word to help her and in return… Well, it was past time for me to face at least some of my inner demons.

Obedient I reached out – and slammed into an all too familiar invisible wall. Again. Damn it! Ten tries and ten times nothing but the frustrating insight that you couldn't force a square through a triangle. Peeved with myself I shoved against the barrier, invisible fingers digging in to find the cracks my irritation might eventually grow. There were none. Without the adrenaline of combat this was a rather hopeless case.

"Be one with your biotics. _Feel_ them flowing through your body. _Feel_ their pulse. And then…"

_Use the Force, Luke._

My concentration shattered under my frantic and very vain attempt to contain a giggle. Oh boy. But why did the Justicar always have to sound like some old aged Jedi knight?

"Sorry," I said ruefully and I opened my eyes once more.

Cross-legged, I was sitting vis-à-vis to Samara on the floor of the observation deck where she had pitched camp. I stared out of the window where tiniest particles burned up against the Normandy's shields, causing them to glow like a freakish Aurora Borealis. Where the never changing black of space stretched out in cold, infinite darkness…

My composure returned.

Garrus was right. My biotics were an edge we direly needed and I wanted to make this work. I really did. If it only wouldn't have been this difficult.

Most biotics received their first implants with beginning of puberty, and although mastering such power while riding out the pinnacles of adolescent hormone overload yelled for trouble, it was well worth the risk. If they made it through, those kids gained a unique understanding of their ability; a profound and deep connection that came close to the instinctiveness with which the asari handled their biotics. I had seen Jack using a mass effect field to pull the salt shaker across the table without wasting a conscious thought.

For me it was different. It was only by chance that the Alliance had discovered the ability in me when I started my training. Sure, they then dutifully outfitted me with implants and put me through the basics, but my reflexes would always make me reach for conventional weapons long before I would even remember my biotics.

"Alright then," Samara finally said with the tiniest sigh. "Let us try something different. Give me your hands. Please."

I stretched out my hands and the Justicar twisted them so my palms faced upwards, then put hers on mine. Her eyes turned black.

"What are you doing?" I pulled away my hands, wary.

The last thing I needed was someone snooping through my already messed-up head. Why people were so obsessed with that kind of "connection" was beyond me. Yeah, yeah, I knew everyone claimed the asari were only able to tap into thoughts you were willing to share, but the one occasion when I had gotten myself talked into this by Liara had been embarrassing enough for both of us. I could have perfectly lived to the end of my days without picking up _that_ particular explicit image from the young asari's mind. Ever.

Samara's eyes switched back to their normal pale blue. "Have no worry, Shepard. I promise I won't enter your mind. I will merely guide you along."

My eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Along to where?"

"Why Shepard, to help you work on your... Yes, I think you humans would call it 'Chi'. Your Chi is blocked. I suspect it isn't a physical condition; but a mental obstacle. It is holding you back now and I believe it's the reason why you're unable to grow into full strength."

I flinched. Unfortunately, I had a pretty good idea what was causing the block.

"I was taught that being calm is the key here, but I can only make this work while fighting." Or more precisely, when the thrill of battle was overriding my mental safeties.

The old Justicar regarded me for a moment. "I understand." Then she sighed and it actually sounded a little vexed. "I'm afraid that's the point where your human training falls short. Calm of mind might be for most biotics the easiest way to access their abilities; but it's far from the only one."

Now I was intrigued. "So…?"

Her deep blue lips twitched. "I know you're short on time so I won't bore you with the numerous philosophic aspects I had centuries to study. In a shell, it's quite mundane. Find your innermost equilibrium and embrace the very essence of who you truly are."

Great. Frigging great.

And honestly? It made perfect sense.

I thought of Jack. Always angry, one of the most unstable persons I've ever met. No, scratch that. _The_ most unstable. But always powerful. Because she _had_ found her own balance within all the hate and destruction that dictated her life.

I thought of the strange peace I felt whenever I was out there risking my life. The oneness; the scarce moments in which the two hearts in me almost beat as one. Perhaps it had been a mistake to detach myself so rigorously from Ivy and her emotional baggage. The fact that since Lazarus it became harder with each day to contain them certainly didn't speak in my favor. The once so indestructible Shepardness was full of cracks and each pushed me a little closer towards the breaking point. And if Shepard broke…

The thought made me cringe inwardly. Nothing but pain and disaster had come from living out this other side of myself; and yet here I stood, realizing, perhaps for the first time that for all my tactics and level-headed rationality being Shepard wasn't enough any longer.

Maybe lying with my face in the dirt in the belly of that Collector vessel had been a lesson all along. In the end it had been _my_ incapability, and my incapability alone which had almost doomed us all. Saren, the Collectors, the Reapers - this fight was so much bigger than just one person. What goddamn right did I have to hold back, just because I shied away from the consequences? Because I was so fucking scared to lose this last bit of good my soul still possessed?

No. I needed her. Ivy's raw strength, her drive, her will to fight and survive. Not just the trifle, that despite my best efforts, I couldn't quite hide, but _all_ of it.

It was the only choice. Sooner or later the pressure would become too much. Not a question of 'if' but 'when' and I'd rather deal with this disaster while I still had the chance to deflect at least some damage.

Finally I nodded and allowed Samara to touch my palms again. "Alright. Let's do this. Ready when you are."

Uh-huh. As ready as driving the Mako any second full-tilt down a vertical hillside. Blind-folded.

The blue-skinned alien inclined her head. "All will be well. Just remember: There are no other limits than those we set for ourselves."

"Aha, another piece of asari wisdom?"

"No," she said and then her stern face broke into one of those rare, motherly smiles. "Just something you will learn after living through your first three centuries… Embrace eternity."

Samara's eyes turned dark and I looked at my reflection in the pool of blackness. My thoughts started to drift. Remotely I remembered to force my body to the brink of accessing my biotics. I closed my eyes. Warmth. Warmth radiated from the Justicar's palm and seeped into me. I was strangely aware of her presence. There was a… pressure rubbing gently against my awareness, almost as if my mind was engulfed completely by hers – close, but still blissfully separated.

The pressure changed into a soft humming and I found myself slipping slowly into a deep hypnotic state; Samara's mind surrounding me like a shield that blocked away the outside.

" _The equilibrium, Shepard,"_ her presence seemed to demand with an encouraging nudge, " _seek it_."

I tried to duplicate the oneness in my mind. Focused on the only thing in the world Shepard AND Ivy could agree on. The rush of battle. The adrenaline flowing through my veins. The exhilarating feel of being truly _alive_. I drew it all in and almost…

I extended my senses. Probed and ran into the barrier again. Dammit. It wasn't working. My brain wouldn't let itself be fooled into sensing something that clearly wasn't there. I was sitting on the Normandy's observation deck, as unexcited as I could possibly get, and the closest thing to a fight was probably Miranda and Jack bitching at each other. Or Jack and Zaeed. Or…

Unbidden, my mind slipped in another memory.

An equally thrilling excitement. All reason abandoned while yielding to the surreal temptation of one crazy moment. A taste of heated metal and earth, of moving my lips against Vakarian's rough skin…

Ah yes. Perhaps those lunatics in me could actually agree on two things.

And then I felt the tingle; faint and treacherous it spread through me from my core into my limbs. Familiar tiny needles prickled underneath my skin; feeding the neuronal network that triggered my biotics.

Samara murmured something approving but my mind was unable to process the words. Her presence tightened around me, pushed against my awareness. Forcing my focus inwards. I took a deep breath, or perhaps I just believed I did. A rift had opened within. I just needed to walk through and seize what was waiting behind.

I imagined taking a step forward and…

… found myself stumbling forward, catching myself, the ground's rough stones cold beneath my palm. I pushed to my knees and peered through the familiar dark of a cell. And kneeling across from me I saw myself. Lips curled in a wordless snarl, Ivy stared back unblinking; her bare skin revealing all the wounds and scars my new body had forgotten so rigorously. Anger, hatred and pain were raging behind her feverish gaze like an uncontrollable storm. And something else that hadn't been there before. Longing.

I stretched out my hand and so did she; her movements a perfect reflection of my own. A mirror opening into another reality. My palms touched a cool surface. Here in the very center of myself the barrier was as strong as it had ever been. Except… tiny cracks. Fanning out from below our hands.

Was it really a barrier? A mirror? Perhaps both and perhaps neither.

She blinked and the world _twisted_.

Saw myself kneeling before me. Calm, collected, detached. Eyes so dead, so devoid of any emotion. Just like the eyes of a corpse. Revulsion flooded my mind. I hated these eyes! Hated everything they stood for. They were wrong and cold and dead and they had locked me in here because they wanted me dead too! Fury burned in me. I was trapped because of them! I could have saved Ashley if not for them! And Toombs! Andrews! Turner! Kerrigen! I could have –

I blinked and snatched my hand away. So did she. My pulse hammered. So much hate. So much rage. How was I ever supposed to maintain control? It was impossible.

… _the equilibrium…_

And what if it wasn't about keeping control? What if it was about surrender? About being washed away and made anew?

… _seek…_

What if. Only one way to find out.

We placed our hands back on the wall that separated us and like a kaleidoscope the image shifted again. Ivy. Shepard. Back and forth. I felt a new set of fissures growing out from the first cracks. Forth and back. Faster and faster. Emotion blended into another. Calm and anger. Distance and proximity. The pressure grew. My control unraveled. A sensation of dread crept up my spine. A slow choking tendril wrapped around my throat and in midst a stab of fear a voice woke up.

_You will perish._

A dark whisper. A hushed warning. Terror.

In panic I struggled against the flood of unleashed emotions Ivy heaped onto me. Tried to separate myself, to keep the mass of painful memories at bay. Her emotions only ripped into me with more force.

_Shepard. You will perish._

I screamed in silence. It was consuming me!

Killing me!

I…

Something slammed into my mind. A stabbing pain like a hook burying itself deeply into my brain. Then it _pulled_ , and I sickened at the vertigo, at the nauseating feeling of being dragged inside out. For one heartbeat I hung in a void for eternity.

My eyes snapped open.

"Are you alright?" Worry pinched Samara's ageless features.

I doubled over and retched dry air.

I sat up with a shiver and nodded. Pain exploded in my head. I caught my forehead between my fingers and groaned. Fuck me.

"I'm sorry for the rough wake up. The headache should ebb any moment."

It actually did. "What the hell just happened?"

"I sensed your discomfort. I tried to ease your mind but you panicked and – Shepard. There was more…" she hesitated and my head shot up. "A _wrongness_ … Something not you."

I stared at the asari and caught a glimpse of something you just don't want to see on the face of a relentless warrior pushing towards her tenth century:

Fear.

And suddenly I knew. Ivy hadn't been the only one waiting behind the barrier of my mind. Something else had been there as well. Something much more dire.

Harbinger.


	15. The tale of a sword

This world doesn't need no opera, we need it for the operation  
We don't need a bigga knife  
'Cause we got guns, we got guns, we got guns  
We got guns, you betta run

We're killin' strangers, we're killin' strangers  
We're killin' strangers, so we don't kill the ones that we love

_Marilyn Manson – Killing Strangers_

* * *

**~ The tale of a sword ~  
**

_Fate._

_Do you believe in fate, Garrus Vakarian?_

Fate. Somehow the word always rolled off my tongue with a bitter aftertaste, as if my rebellious nature could never quite agree with the concept. Free will. The price of a decision. Didn't it all became pointless if life merely struggled along a path that had already been decided for us?

And yet, the moment I stood at the same spot in the bombed room that once had been Archangel's lair, I could no more stop the asari priestess' question from echoing in my mind than I could shake off the uneasy impression that no matter how far I ran away, some things would always find their way back to me.

_For better or worse._

I peeked at my companion from the corner of my vision. In patience she sat on a piece of collapsed ceiling near the entrance, the lapels of her dark leather coat pushed back to reveal the butt end of the Carnifex sticking out from the insewn holster. Unfamiliar deep red hair framed her face, green eyes hidden beneath brown lenses. Her calm gaze rested on me. There was no need for any other words. No matter our attitude regarding that cursed night, we had entered the district in silence and she had simply fallen in beside me. Followed my lead with the same taciturn ease I had followed her into the storm's eye ever since. It filled me with a deep sense of contentment. No. I did not regret asking the Commander along.

My focus returned to the room. The detonation had inflicted severe damage on the building and everything inside, so much no one had claimed residence so far. Not enough to keep out the scavengers though, and the few valuables that did survive had long been stripped away.

I stared at the ominous dark smears on the ground, marking the silent graves of Archangel's crew. The bodies were gone. The blood stains not. Someone must have called in Aria's Cleaners and claimed the token bounty. Whatever unflattering things one could say about her rule, at least the asari made some efforts to have Omega's three basic needs covered: water, air and corpse control.

I heaved a sigh. I didn't know what else I expected. I had been sickened by the image of my friends rotting in this apartment and still… the certain knowledge that they had been discarded and processed with the station's trash suddenly seemed even worse.

Maybe it would have been better had I never come back at all.

But of course this was merely a vain and impossible wish. The moment I learned that Shepard and the Justicar were planning a detour to Omega in secret, I knew it was time for me as well.

For one this was my chance to finally make good on my promise to Solana, so first thing I shipped off a parcel with Collector tissue prepared by Mordin's courtesy and addressed with his regards to the Talat Medical Institute on Sur'Kesh.

As for the other… well, I had already seen too many men strangled because they failed to tie up loose ends. I didn't plan on making the same mistake.

Besides, I knew better how things worked on this blasted rock than anyone else Shepard had at her disposal. Hitching a ride with one of the many shuttles commuting between Omega and Imorkan's transit stations or not, they would have had a much harder time getting here unnoticed. I was the only reasonable choice. That said, it hadn't surprised me much when the Commander objected – quite insistent, I daresay – and under normal circumstances she might even have had a more than valid point. As it was though, her concerns were moot. Few people had ever actually seen Archangel. Even fewer were still alive and none would be able to recognize me now. To most aliens one turian looked like the other, anyway.

No, if I was honest, I just worried about two persons.

The first was Aria. The asari probably knew very well who of interest was boarding her station, regardless of Omega's lax border controls or the Normandy staying safely out of sight. She might have allowed Archangel to leave and even considered him dead, but it still felt a damn lot as if my life hung on something as fickle as the mood of an overly-violent pirate queen.

And the second? The second was me.

I squatted down and touched the spot of dried blood where Mierin had died in my arms. A heavy lump formed in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, but of course the same old grief was already waiting inside. It surged up, a dark grimful tide, confronting me with the painful realization that this wound might not have healed as cleanly as I had wanted to believe.

_Mierin. Forgive me._

But in the depths of my heart I knew I had failed her. Had selfishly rejected her; her love, because I was mired too deeply in this futile crusade of mine. Because I was scared.

Soft footsteps approached. A light hand fell on my shoulder. After a heartbeat's hesitation I reached up and put my hand on hers. There was none of the awkward distance that had infested our actions the past days. Just the Spectre's silent presence.

I kept staring at the old blood. Lost. So much was lost. So much that would never be.

Damn, hadn't Mierin deserved better than this? What if I…? I dropped my head. I already knew the answer.

Death.

Plain and simple. Had I allowed myself to fall in love with Mierin I would have never left Omega alive. No one would have been there to keep Kervol from taking even more lives. No knife would have stopped that Collector from shooting Jack's brains out. No bullet to save Tali. No one to intercede with the salarians on my mother's behalf. And Shepard… how many times would she have died if not for me?

_Do you believe in fate?_

I turned my head up and found her face. Alien. And still so familiar. Reflected in her human eyes I could see my own misery in all its inglorious facets. The sleepless nights. The doubts. The certainty that if I had been just a little smarter, stronger, better, I would have been able to save my team.

The false hope that vengeance would eventually make the painful guilt go away.

But that was the biggest lie of all, wasn't it? No one would ever free me from guilt. Except myself.

I looked back at the floor, troubled.

Alchera. Zue's Hope. Akuze. And how many other times things got fucked up beyond recovery? Even though Shepard never spoke of it, it was obvious she had went through the same harsh lessons herself. And wasn't it exactly what made her an even better commander? The Commander I had tried so hard to follow suit and yet never reached?

In the past I had always shunned the leadership that was expected of me. I never wanted to command, never wanted to be more than just another soldier. Wanted a place where I belonged unquestioned. Solid structures. A simpler life, free of the pressures that came with standing at the top.

I also remembered too well the endless discussions about responsibility, and me "willfully ignoring my duty". The same old arguments that always lead into a spiral of blame and disappointment. My father never understood. The thing is, I didn't either. At least not until I met Shepard.

She made me look beyond the black-and-white I'd used to define my world and face the truth I had so vehemently refused to accept in all those years working for C-Sec: I'd long ago stopped wanting to be an ordinary soldier. Because there was only so much a mere soldier could change in this world, only so much injustice he could fight and I, I _needed_ to do more.

Maybe this was the really moment Archangel was born, and the Normandy's destruction was just the rude wake-up call that made him step out from the shadows. Whatever the case, with Shepard's death something irrevocably changed within - and Omega welcomed us arms wide open. Leadership was thrust at me and for the first time I not only accepted, but embraced the role with all my heart. I wanted to prove my worth, to measure myself against my ideals and become a bit like the Commander I respected so much. It was my chance to honor her memory and the lessons I'd learned from her, and damn me if wouldn't be able to make some of her noble spirit live on through me and my team!

And for the blink of an eye I actually seemed to have found my place; down there in this hellhole, leading a group of mercs and self-appointed vigilantes. Until the shit hit the fan, of course.

And again I couldn't help wondering if they really died for my mistakes or if we had already been doomed from the very day I set foot on Omega, because somewhere something _wanted_ me to end up here.

Here. Remained the question where exactly "here" was…

Strangely, I had always longed for the times I'd flown with the Normandy and now that Shepard was back and had assumed command, I should be more than happy to fall in behind her once more – if not for this part that had enjoyed the challenge of being in charge. Not to get me wrong, guarding her sixes was an honor; a sign of trust, I wouldn't want to miss for anything. She relied on me; more than she probably liked to admit and I knew she was a great leader because she brought in a spirit and a compassion my turian nature would never allow me too. And at the same time I was perfectly aware that whatever potential for leadership I possessed would be overshadowed by hers forever. The irony indeed.

Fate? Coincidence? Hell, if I knew. Well, at least I knew the answer wouldn't be found by sitting in a bombed out ruin.

I gave the Spectres's hand on my shoulder a quick squeeze and stood up. One last look back on all that had been. One last prayer for all that was lost. One last goodbye.

"I think it's time to go… Samara will be waiting."

She nodded and followed me out.

* * *

~V~

* * *

_How? How the fucking fuck do I get myself into those things?_

I snuffed the impulse to punch the baldheaded bouncer in the teeth and shoved my way past the short bulky man and into the expensive-looking club, limiting myself to a hard stare over my shoulder.

Security protocol, my ass.

Literally. Harhar.

I marched towards the bar located against the wall straight across the entry. Or tried. Those stupid stiletto heels made my feet hurt just from looking at them and the dress... let's say with each breath I was in grave danger of falling out the tiny black leather tube, and it gave everyone around me all kinds of wrong ideas - including the bouncer and his nimble hands.

_Why, thank you, Samara._

Apparently me getting a disguise that "veils most of my nature and still reveals enough of it to intrigue Morinth" was vital to the Justicar's plan somehow. Couldn't she see that I wasn't the type for dresses? I wasn't Miranda. _I_ only managed to send out these freakish vibes.

A few yards to my right a platinum-blond man stopped in his tracks to stare at me. I picked up the pace.

Arrg.

Maybe I really shouldn't have bugged Samara this morning into sifting through my seriously damaged mind, _again_. Maybe this was just her way of returning the favor. The outfit certainly felt a damn lot like payback.

Trouble was, whatever we had stumbled upon during our training, it was gone now. Had it really been Harbinger? Was this how the Sovereign had started to indoctrinate Saren and Liara's mother?

I shivered at the thought and clawed at straws. Hadn't it also felt disconcertingly close to what I've experienced while touching that blasted prothean beacon on Eden Prime? What if we merely stirred up a lingering echo of those ancient warnings, triggered by me brute-forcing my way into the corner of myself where I locked away my darkest fears?

I forced the unwholesome questions into their little box for later and approached a free barstool; left an asari wearing an even more questionable dress; to the right a krogan so massive, I could almost hear his seating furniture cry for mercy.

Holding on to the bar's counter with one hand, I wiggled a bill of cash out from the top of my knee-high leather boots. Really, would it have been too much for Samara to add a goddamn purse? I pushed the bill towards the turian bartender toweling glasses. Behind him neat rows of bottles in various sizes filled the shelf attached to a wall made of mirror tiles. Hello, beautiful.

"Your best whiskey. Levo-compatible, if you please." You wouldn't believe how many idiots thought it "fun" if you writhed on the floor and barfed out your innards.

The turian threw the towel over his shoulder and gave first the money then me a suspicious look. I suppressed a sigh. What a world we lived in. Cash, frowned upon even in Gomorrah. I plastered a silly smile on my face.

_Yes, yes, this one's no more nefarious than a floor board._

He looked me over once more then grinned – which meant he flashed me a mouthful of sharp teeth – kinda… knowingly. Swell. Now he thought I was a hooker. The back alley sort, 'cause the rest charged their clients electronically.

The turian barkeeper finally decided to grab the money, he probably siphoned past the register anyway, and replaced it with a glass that he filled quite generous out of a black labeled bottle. The intricate swirls of asari script covered the label. I nodded in appreciation and gestured for him to keep the change. A well-disposed barkeeper certainly never hurt.

I raised the glass and saluted to the strange girl looking at me from the mirror wall. Her skin appeared even lighter than usual due to the thick black eye shadow and the crimson hair that hung down her back in wavy ringlets. A good thing it was merely a wig. Having hair the same shade as freshly spilled blood seemed… unbecoming for the likes of me.

I turned away from Commander Slut and leaned against the counter with my back. The quicker I spotted my target the sooner I could be done with this ridiculous disguise. I observed the perimeter over the rim of my glass filled with surprisingly good whiskey. There was even more proof that this was indeed a rather decent club – by Omega's standards at least. The booths and tables built along the walls looked clean, the four asari pole dancers that twisted their bodies unnaturally on a raised dais in the middle of the dance floor weren't entirely naked and I had already discovered three bouncers watching out for trouble. The music was just as bad as everywhere else, though. The patrons were a mix of several species, yet mainly humans. Odd. I had expected Morinth to be more focused on her own kind. Payback is bitch and all.

Ardat-Yakshi. Demon of the Night Winds. Quite a lyrical name for something as mundane as a rare genetic defect that compelled the afflicted pure-blooded asari to dominate and crush the minds of whoever they mated with. And they mated a lot; their mental abilities enhancing with each victim they devoured, driving them ever deeper into an overpowering addiction to kill.

Morinth would never stay for long in one place, not even in human terms. Weeks, a few months, perhaps. The Justicar was indeed lucky to have tracked her in time. Or maybe not so much, considering that she already hunted the Ardat-Yakshi for centuries, Morinth was Samara's daughter and this was the kind of story that wouldn't come with a happily ever after attached.

At least we hadn't to worry about Aria, regardless that Omega's self-proclaimed Queen had grudgingly tolerated Morinth presence so far. Not out of some weird respect for a fellow killer stigmatized by superstition and cultural reflexes, but out of sheer self-preservation. No illusions, if she felt that the Ardat-Yakshi would seriously endanger herself or her station, Aria would attack – and very likely die trying. Double swell. Playing bait never looked more appeasing.

I ended my first perimeter check to my right. The asari in the short-short dress winked at me from her seat on the barstool and bestowed me with a cute little gesture that involved her tongue and her first two fingers. Peachy. Then she crossed her legs and flashed me her… beaver? Naked mole rat? Showed off her azure luv-lips?

I had retreated half a step closer to the corpulent krogan before I caught myself. Oh boy. This place was worse than a box full of hamsters.

The blue-skinned alien snickered and slid off her seat to vanish in the dancing crowd, working her hips so hard even a blind would know she was open for business. Ew.

I took a gulp of my drink, but nope, the image of blue cooch was still there. Great. Fantastic. Another memory of the better unseen burned into my mind like forever. I still closed my eyes for a moment and savored the rich flavor of the whiskey. Why anyone bothered with those oh-so-fancy drinks that came with a totally unwholesome color scheme was beyond me.

Oh right, speaking of which. Now that the upfront asari had left her seat at the end of the counter I could see into the booth closest to the bar. There, with his profile to me, sat my backup. He had arrived earlier and sipped on a very unhealthy looking lime-green drink (there… was a tiny umbrella – an umbrella!) that clashed with rest of his appearance like Hello Kitty on a gatling gun.

Yep, my turian friend had an even harder time at looking inconspicuous than I did, so apparently he had given up on it all together. One arm prodded on the table, the other resting on the booth's back rest, he bestowed the world around him with an icy glare that had a big "make my day" tag attached. At least I had gotten this shiny new body, with the souvenir from fighting the maw and the graze on my arm being my only visible scars. The hem of the dress thankfully covered the one from Haestrom – even if barely.

Garrus had no such cover-ups. Life had finally punched all niceties out of him, and the tattered scar that sprawled across half of his face and down below the collar of his clothes, was just driving the point home. Instead of his usual blue heavy armor he had taken on wearing something more "casual" – which meant that the sturdy dark pants and matching jacket were probably thick enough to deflect a knife.

Once his friendly and open nature had made it easy for people to confide in the former C-Sec officer. Now they took one look at his face and decided to seek trouble elsewhere. Tali told me he thought himself disfigured for the scars, but that wasn't true. In fact, it was probably less the badly healed wound and more the menacing scowl that caused people to shy away.

Omega might not have broken the turian, but it had definitely raked its claws across his soul. And those kind of wounds never really healed. They only hardened. Funny how the Garrus that hunted Saren with me seemed almost soft by comparison. But yeah, considering the shit Archangel had been through… It pained me to see how life had treated him after my death. What it turned him into.

And then he had asked me along unexpected and there we stood, without a word, in midst the place where his team had died, _connected_ in a way we had never been before.

I rubbed my temples.

Really, how fucked up was this?

I looked up again and caught Garrus lifting his glass and taking a sip; his eyes never leaving the crowd. It was a calm and controlled motion, one that whispered of discipline and coiled strength, yet silently promised a shocking readiness for violence.

Nature had built his kind with the ultimate hunter in mind. He was a blend of supple quickness, ungodly reflexes and lean, hard muscles I imagined all tense and ready, just waiting for him to explode into action. I couldn't see his eyes but I knew they brimmed with anticipation. He was expecting a fight and a part of him was going to enjoy it - and wouldn't it be nice if he'd put all of this deliberate intensity into making me writhe in pleasure? Wait, what?

Feeling a hot tug in my groin, I shifted my stance; then used the movement to turn towards the bar and order another drink before my imagination could infest me with any more nonsense.

_How much further, Shepard? How much further do you intend to stumble down that specific rabbit hole?_

I took a deep breath, gathering myself. God, I was an idiot. The extra advice-resistant version.

Next to me Mr. Obese snorted and shook his head. Probably sniffing out my underfuckedness. Awesome. This was getting better and better.

"You're peculiar, human," the krogan observed.

No shit.

I shrugged, holding on to my glass as frantically as if it was my dignity. "Nah, I would have filled in more adjectives. Like insane."

He chuckled, a sound like a rumbling landslide. "You hurt Melhana's feelings, you know? Can't remember the last time she got turned down twice in a row. Heh, shoulda seen her furious face after she tried that turian…" Suddenly he stopped then inhaled deeply. Something close to awe flittered across the reptilian face. " _She_ is here."

I twisted around. A _shift_ virtually went through many of the patrons and all my petty issues dissolved in a frightening display of expressions turning from intrigued to overzealous. Fish eagerly swimming into the open jaws of a hungry shark. Even the music changed from some random electronic beat into a dark and sinister song. Lemme guess? The score to Vaenia.

The demon certainly knew how to make an entry.

Now, if _I_ only knew how to get the hell outta here…

* * *

~V~

* * *

I really couldn't stress enough how much I disliked this "plan".

If you took down someone as dangerous as the Ardat-Yakshi, you went through careful precautions, searched the perimeter for the perfect spot - and sniped off the head with as much distance between the two of you as possible. Then you plunked another bullet through the heart, just to be sure. You did _not_ seek her attention and you most certainly didn't hook up with her. Why didn't we just crawl head first into a rachni hive and…

Ah. Right.

My attention skipped back to the red-haired woman by the bar, chatting idly with this fat krogan who hadn't moved once from his seat the whole evening. It was still hard not to stare in disbelief. Of course I knew like everybody else that humans were notorious for their versatility. I just would have never expected her to be able to look so… different and I wasn't merely talking about the clothes or the unfamiliar hair color. Rather it was as if the very air around her had adapted something new, something undeniably mystique and well… sensual. Just take the slim raised heels only human woman and asari would bother with. When she moved…

Suddenly, Shepard drew away from the counter and marched towards the dance floor. I froze. She wouldn't try to… Would she? I pushed out of my booth and followed the red-haired Spectre, those heeled boots giving her hips such an intriguing sway… let's say she left a disturbing number of dirty looks in her wake. Unwanted my gaze slid lower. The dress exposed maybe three hand breadths of her bare thighs and I simply couldn't help but wonder how much better they would look wrapped tightly around my waist…

_Bad idea, Vakarian._

I tore my eyes away. A human male grinned and nudged his companion. I suddenly found it irrationally difficult _not_ to stroll over and wipe the leer off their faces with my fist.

Instead I caught up with the Commander, grabbed her left wrist with my right hand and pulled her towards me, spinning her around. Her eyes went wide in surprise - then they narrowed dangerously.

"Wha… What the hell, you think you're doing?" She hissed, barely audible over the music. "You're backup. Unseen. And not supposed to… to…"

"To keep you from scaring away the target?" I asked under my breath and moved us a few steps to the side to a free space.

"For fuck's sake, Vakarian. I wanted to _dance,_ not kill someone."

"Precisely."

"Hey. What's that supposed to mean?"

I shrugged and shifted the grip I had on her wrist. Curious how smoothly her alien five-digit hand would slide into mine. The beat of the music was just perfect.

"As I recall the plan is to spark her interest. But if you rather make her drop dead laughing…"

With that I put my other palm on her exposed shoulder blade and just yanked her along the first steps of one of the dances, Selene had so enjoyed to make me suffer through on countless occasions. For a few heartbeats the hard-assed, death-defying Spectre seemed too baffled to do anything but hold on to my upper arm and follow the lead - and what can I say? The mix of indignation, confusion and bloody murder that flushed her face was… priceless. I released her shoulder and whirled her around until her back was aligned to my front. Before I could grow too comfortable at the new proximity, though, her elbow jabbed me hard in the stomach.

"I swear, you'll bloody pay for this…" she growled in menace, and spirits help me, it was a sexy sound to the core.

"Seriously. What is it with you women always turning violent to prove a point?" I said next to her ear, then reluctantly spun her back to face me.

I started another series of steps that would move us around in a semi-circle; her initial anger slowly dissipating into a look of concentration. She glanced up and her lips curled into this tiny but wicked smile.

"We know you like it."

I chuckled and added a few more complex moves to our pattern. This was actually more fun than I had expected. It… shouldn't be too hard to make her sweat a little, right?

People had shifted aside to give us more room, some of them slowing in their own dancing to watch. We certainly had started to draw attention. For a moment I feared this would be just as disastrous as what Shepard would have wreaked unchecked, yet the Commander was surprisingly pliable and her movements were well, actually graceful. How could someone who usually flapped about like a drowning Harvester suddenly possess a sense for rhythm? Perhaps it _was_ those insane boots.

"I think Morinth's watching…" Shepard murmured.

"Good."

I winked at the human and picked up the pace. There. A tiny bead of sweat was forming on her forehead. I moved her backwards and she stumbled one step before catching her balance.

"Careful, Officer V. Or do _you_ rather want to be the one taking her home?"

"The way she's looking at you? Hardly. I doubt she's even aware of my existence."

The music swallowed her curse and I pivoted her once more against my chest, my arm coiled around her. Damn me, but she felt good. I had been taught that human bodies were soft, but it was not quite true. Hers was… like steel, steel covered with a layer of smoothest silk…

"Alright, Garrus. Serial killer's attention, check. What now?"

What?

I blinked, realizing I had started to stare down her cleavage, watching her bosom rise and fall in line with her breathing. Worse, the song was at an end and had shifted into a slow rhythm that was good for only one certain kind of _dance_.

Plan. Now.

"Lay me."

_Idiot._

"What?"

I cleared my throat. "We fight, you knock me down. Let her see a human besting a turian."

She nodded slowly, looking suspiciously amused. "Might work. But there's no reason for me to hit you."

"I, hmm, could feel you up? Strictly professional, of course."

"Uh-huh, professional. As in one soldier feeling up a fellow soldier? Why do I think you enjoy this a little bit too much for your own good?" She asked wryly and shifted in my arm to arch her eyebrow at me.

I loosened my hold, grinning back.

"Later. You can thank me later."

Actually… a lot less later than I would have liked I looked up from the deck, just in time to watch Shepard sashay off, a snickering Ardat-Yakshi at her side.

That said, there were way too many amused faces around me. With a groan, I got up and rubbed my chin. The little Spectre was packing quite a punch for someone her size.

I messaged Samara that they were heading for the side exit and approached the bar.

"Horosk."

Spirits. This was going to be a damn long evening.

* * *

~V~

* * *

"My apartment is not far," the black-clad, darkly attractive asari purred into my ear as we stepped out of the club into the stale "outside" air. Damn it, but they certainly built those space stations to mess up all of your senses. There she laced her arm around mine. "Why don't you join me for a drink so we can… chat?"

Chat. My ass.

"With pleasure," I replied and forced a smile on my face, feeling her fingers idly trailing across my arm.

I'd have rather had a chat with a rabid varren, but yeah, that's my life; so full of illustrious people with irresistible offers.

I pushed the sarcasm aside and focused on the killer strolling at my side. Watching me with eyes so deep and hungry they made every fiber in my body itch to run away screaming. The Justicar owed me. Big time.

Five very short minutes later, I stood in the middle of Morinth's apartment and it was just like I expected it. Vast, modern and stuffed with proof of her own awesomeness.

The Ardat-Yakshi lingered on her couch and keenly hawked me while I was probably supposed to admire her furnishings and good taste. Oh my. But, I was a good victim and so I gawked at a piece of unique "art" that looked like an oversized tin can that had been raped by a maniac with a hammer.

And there, at the wall across from her, it hung.

A beautiful, slender katana.

Human design, perfected by the touch of asari mastery. Almost in trance I walked over, my fingers hovering just above the blade. Then I ran them along the lacquered sheath hanging below. The deep black masterpiece was adored with a red and silver floral pattern typical for Thessian smiths. I closed my eyes and in my mind I could hear the screams. Even after more than a decade I couldn't quite elude their spell.

… _Blood. Pooling on the warehouse's floor like a big red blanket. Effortless the blade slides through filthy clothes and into flesh. The slaver howls in agony. I taste his hot blood on my lips. Hear my own laughter as hatred burns in me like hellfire. I am vengeance…_

Killing with the blade… It was different from killing with a gun. The sword gave you such close connection with your opponents, a gun never could; you stroke, you hit and their life seemed to seep through the blade into you. It filled me with something primal.

Which was exactly why I had never touched a sword again.

… _Bloodied hands, digging into the soft soil. The scent of fresh earth and new spring growth slowly banishing the smell of death. One last time. My trembling fingers brush over the katana that once belonged to my mother for one last time before thrusting the blade into the ground, burying with it the last physical connection to my childhood…_

With my mother gone and without an ID I'd simply been falling through the grid until I landed in hell. Or better: the streets of New York. When some 80 years back the New Yorkers finally lost their fight against the rising water levels and the financial district along with the better part of lower Manhattan drowned, the money vanished and decent people followed suit. Naturally things only went downhill from there and the city that had been in its heyday one of earth's thriving hubs became part ruthless ghetto, part flooded no man's land.

But I survived. Kaidan always joked that there must be some part of cockroach in my genome. The longer I thought about it the more I believed he was right.

The Reds had been my life for ten fucking years. Ten years of painfully honing the instincts my mother had ingrained into me from the day I was old enough to hold a knife without stabbing myself. Ten years of fighting for survival in a merciless world that tried so hard to turn kids like us into victims. Tried and succeeded more often than not. Thankfully the countless nights seeking redemption only found at the bottom of a bottle had dimmed most memories of that time. Just… not all of them…

_I had not been able to stop._

_In midst the quiet realm of the Central Park's old trees I finally feel how the seething rage recedes once more to some remote corner of my self. Yet when I close my eyes I am still back in the half-collapsed warehouse overlooking the East River._

_Back, where something dark and fucking scary has awakened deep inside me and taken over…_

_The two missing Reds revealed by the moon's pale light. My girls. My friends. Their cloths tattered. Their young bodies beaten and raped. Their lifeless eyes staring at me in silent accusation. Too late. I've been too late._

_My eyes fasten on the six wannabe slaver-assholes that killed my friends in their blind greed. A veil of red falling into my vision, hatred boiling inside my veins. An inhuman howl ripping from chest. I step out from the shadows and so the killing begins._

_But it does not end._

_With each stroke, each drop of spilled blood, the hatred just burns hotter. I take the second life and the rage consumes me._

_Again the katana finds flesh, slicing through muscles and tendons so eagerly. Too soon the last of the surprised slavers falls prey to my blade but I can't stop. The dead eyes keep haunting me; driving me on, their gaze constricting my chest like a painful weight that would crush me the moment I came to halt. Movement to my right. My body simply reacting. They plead but I can't hear them through the blood roaring in my ears. Can't see them through the tears blurring my view._

_I can. not. stop._

_I open my eyes and I am again in the park._

" _This is not who I taught you to be," the voice of my mother whispers from the back of my head and I shiver, realizing that in a life so filled with injustice and violence I would inevitably loose myself to the monster inside._

_I have to get the fuck outta here._

_I look down once more; at the patch of freshly upturned earth. This… thing that crawled out from the abyss of my heart… It has to be contained._

_I scramble to my feet and follow the overgrown path northwards. Clean my face and hands as best as I could at one of the many artificial lakes. Leave the sword and my blood-soaked jacket behind, the fresh spring air cooling my damp skin and wet hair. There isn't much more I can do about the blood staining my appearance. There is nothing I can do about the blood staining my soul._

_In New Harlem I walk directly into the Alliance recruiting office._

_There are only two men at the office this early in the morning. A young redheaded soldier who sits behind a console and a dark-skinned middle aged man standing next to him. Likely the responsible officer. Manning this recruiting post is a shitty and ungrateful task. People here hate the Systems Alliance who would rather fly around the galaxy and lick the booties of some dumbfuck aliens light years away instead of keeping things civil down here. Well, they got lucky today._

_"Ad says you're looking for recruits. Found one."_

_They look up, the redhead's face curdling in disgust at my gruesome sight._

_"Girl, the railway mission's one block south."_

_I flip out my switchblade and throw it at the poster next to the door. With a dull clunk it hits the portrayed soldier between his eyes. Gotcha!_

_"You're looking for new recruits or not?"_

_"Who do you think you-" The red-head is ready to jump over the desk at me, but the older officer's hand on his shoulder cuts him off._

_"Why do you think the Alliance has need of you?" The dark-skin man asks in a calm voice._

_My laugh is bitter. "Look around. This city's a rotten piece of shit. You live south of Midtown and every day's a fucking fight for survival. I'm good at fighting and I'm good at surviving. Figure that's some pretty useful skills for a soldier. Why not use them for something actually worth fighting for?"_

_I glare over the young man's head at the older officer, holding his scrutinizing gaze._

_After a long moment, he nods and I follow him into a small office on the back._

" _I'm Lieutenant David Anderson."_

" _Ivy."_

_He gestures towards another desk and I drop on the offered chair. He takes a seat behind the desk and brings up a console._

" _Just Ivy, huh?"_

" _Yeah. No family name. And no, no ID either."_

" _I see." He starts typing. "What about Shepard?"_

_I shrug. "As good a name as any, I suppose."_

" _So, how old are you?"_

" _Old enough, Mister."_

" _It's 'Sir'."_

" _Old enough, Sir."_

_Another set of entries. "I congratulate you, Ivy. Not many recruits enlist early morning on their 18_ _th_ _birthday." He smiles and gives me a small salute. "Private Shepard, welcome to the Alliance."_

" _Just like that?"_

" _Just like that."_

_I frown, suddenly uneasy. "Why?"_

_He leans back in his chair, forming a triangle with his thumbs and fingers. "_ _Let's call it a hunch_ _."_

**.~'*'~.**

Hands slipping around my waist ripped me from my memories.

_Oh shit, shitshitshit!_

How long had I stood there and stared at the katana like an idiot?

"A beautiful weapon isn't it?" Morinth asked in a low throaty voice, her mouth just inches away from my ear.

"Yes..." I said slowly before I could stop myself.

"You know, Allison, we two, we are very much alike. You have killed many. And so have I." She rubbed her cheek against mine and inhaled. "Death… follows you. I feel its touch on you… My people say you'll never forget your first lover – but I always felt this goes just as much for your first kill. You remember, don't you?"

I blinked. There it was, another harsh memory, alcohol never quite managed to erase. Red. Funny how in my case he had actually been both… "I've no idea what you're talking about..." I said much more calm than I felt inside.

She chuckled, turning me around to peek at my face. "Then tell me, my fierce Allison, how long can you endure without fighting? Without killing? How long until your hand starts to itch for a weapon because your life is turning stale, food is becoming tasteless and sex is losing its passion? Weeks? A few months?" She pushed a loose blood red strand back and her fingers ran down my neck. An icy shiver crawled down my spine. "The likes of us are not meant for a peaceful life. It's our... what's term you humans use? Ah, yes, kryptonite."

"You know nothing of me…" I whispered mechanically.

"Do I need to? Your eyes already betrayed you. They are old. The innocent light gone. The eyes of a killer. You can fool the weak, but you can't hide what you are from me."

Her hands cradled my face and she pulled it in to kiss me. I couldn't help it, I somehow expected… fishy. Instead I merely tasted fruit-scented lipstick. Her tongue trailed over my lips and I really really had to restrain myself from headbutting her and running for my life. Where the bloody hell was Samara?

She pulled back and opened her eyes. They were black. So utterly black, like dark portals to some other place – where terror reigned and the screams went to die. The very essence of life seemed to flee me, sucked into those huge polished obsidians, to feed the ever-hungry goddess waiting inside; so remote, so atrocious in her infinite beauty and majesty...

And then her mind tried to invade mine. It found my mental shields and hurled itself at them with a force that almost shattered me. Oh god... she was so strong. Her presence slithered along my awareness; not in the gentle touch Samara had used, but rather like a constrictor pressing on and on until she would have squashed my resolve. And then… Boy, what she would find in there would not amuse her. Frantically I shifted my racing thoughts away from the obvious and latched on this ancient song, Joker had almost driven me up the walls with; repeating it in my head over and over again. Although I was still unable to tear my gaze away from the succubian abyss in front of me, my lips curled up. If the sunshine, the lollipops or the rainbows wouldn't do her than the bunch of krogans I imagined jumping around a pole, flower garlands in hands.

For a moment her death gaze was disturbed by blinking lids and she cocked her head, giving me a puzzled look. Probably thought she had already fried my mind. Then she smiled and every fiber in my body begged me to flee but I could. Not. Move.

Then she laughed and it was diabolic.

"Vorcha. Turians. Even krogans. All martial down to their worthless core. And yet even they will eventually give up if they realize that there is no hope. Humans though... Such curious creatures you are. Take away your hope and you will just struggle all the harder against the inevitable and you…" Again she inhaled deeply, as if claiming even my very scent. "You promise to struggle especially hard, won't you? Shall we begin? Embrace…"

"No." I forced the word out with a hiss. Her hands still cupped my chin, but mine were free. My fingers slipped under the hem of my dress, brushing metal.

"No?" She seemed amused and definitely turned on by my desperate tries to stand my ground. "Ah, taking your life will be such a pleasure..."

I hadn't the energy for smart-assed backtalk. Instead I forced my fingers to close around the small throwing knife strapped to my thigh. I couldn't wait for the Justicar any longer.

Wordless I shoved blade into her chest.

The Ardat-Yakshi yelled. The next second I was slammed against the wall. Stars danced across my vision. I dove to the right and towards the door before the biotic blast that followed suit could hit me. She screeched again and I looked up, watching her pulling the knife out from her chest. I had missed. I freaking missed her rotten heart. Goddamn asari bitch! She licked the blade and tossed it aside, face twisted in rage.

"You will die in pain!" Her words sounded strangely distorted in my ears, as if she was speaking with several voices at once. I shook my head to clear my disoriented head. She took another step towards me, her arms covered in blue lightning. I prepared to throw a sphere of my own or die and the doors of the apartment burst open. Samara entered, a swirl of biotic energy engulfing her.

"YOU!" Morinth screeched but instead of putting up a fight she turned around and ran for the window.

_Oh no, you won't…_

I released another knife. It bit into her neck and the Ardat-Yakshi stumbled. Before she hit the floor, though, Samara was there and caught her. She lowered Morinth down, bringing the Ardat-Yakshi's head to rest on her thighs. The Justicar pulled the blade free from Morinth's neck. Purple blood gushed forward and almost gently, Samara pressed her hands on the wound. Morinth tried to speak but all she could do was coughing up more blood.

And then the Justicar softly begun to sing, and heaven help me it sounded like a freaking lullaby. Tears slid down Morinth's face. Samara kissed her forehead and then she slit her daughter's throat. She was still singing when I picked up the first blade and silently backed out of the apartment.

Outside I released a long long breath. The whole unsettling episode made me feel sick, dirtied and heartsore in one.

Yup, this definitely called for another drink.

I spotted a tiny bar across the complex where Morinth had her apartment. It didn't look too inviting but somewhere between being harassed all evening and watching Samara sing to her dead girl I had run out of fucks to give.

I sent Garrus a navpoint and went in.

On the inside the bar was actually a little less trashy than the neon sign featuring a dancing martini glass suggested. Aside from the batarian barkeeper and one lone turian customer huddled into the corner near the door, the bar was empty.

I climbed one of the bar stools, ordered a drink, then stared at the ugly collection of taxidermised heads of varren and at least two or three things I couldn't even put a name on. With a leer, the batarian put down the bottle in front of me.

I heaved a sigh and downed half of my ordered beer. At least _he_ hadn't frowned at my money. Nipping on my bottle I browsed through the messages on my omnitool waiting for Garrus. Joker had reported earlier and… a bitter taste coated my mouth. O-oh.

I jumped from my seat, but my mind couldn't comprehend what to do next. I stared at the barkeeper, his smug face. Suddenly my legs gave way under me as each muscle in my body slackened. I tried to grab the counter but missed, and dropped to the floor like a wet rag.

I heard the door open.

_Garrus!_

I struggled to beat down the wave of fatigue that was crushing in on me. I turned my head and saw my friend coming in. He spotted me, his hand went for his Carnifex and behind him the turian patron rose, an ugly knife in his hand.

In my head I screamed and the world went dark.


	16. The alpha on Omega

Screaming at the walls of fire  
They're closing in on me  
I'm hungry for the burning of the silver moonlight  
It's where I wanna be  
Screaming at the walls of fire  
But I'm still running free  
In the silver moonlight I can breathe

_Within Temptation - Silver Moonlight_

* * *

**~ The alpha on Omega ~  
**

Consciousness seeped back to me slowly.

What…

I tried to remember what happened, but every thought threatened to split my aching head right open. There was a taste of dirty pennies in my mouth and nauseating cramps in my stomach. I coughed out a handful of dust and forced my heavy lids to open. Poor light smudged every contrast into a shadowy blur. Hands and feet bound together behind my back, I lay on my belly like a stuffed turkey and could make out zip.

I wiggled my numb fingers and toes to work some sensation back into them. My limbs felt leaden. Someone – no – a batarian bartender had put something in my drink. Probably a slaver and…

_Oh my god! Garrus!_

Hot and icy dread washed over me and struggled like a berserk against my bounds, the plastic of the zip ties cutting into my wrists.

He was one tough bastard and without seeing a corpse I could just as well assume he was alive. He'd survived an inferno rocket, for God's sake. Certainly an idiot with a knife couldn't...

_If he's alive then why are you here?_

My chest constricted. With a groan I bit down on my lip to keep the rising sob inside, pretending it was merely the sharp pain shooting tears into my eyes.

The minutes trickled by, pathetic minutes in which I wrestled with the cruel images my mind painted with frightening ease. Finally I let out a long breath. If needed, I was prepared to face the worst. Functioning. Until then... as long as I was trapped, my speculations were moot anyway.

I craned my neck. The yellowish light of the outside's ambient illumination filtered in through a small window. I was in a shabby storeroom that smelled like the inside of a garbage can. At the wall to my side was metal rack. Perhaps… I rolled sideward and wriggle about until my hands touched the frame and thank the gods, nobody had cared for deburring the edges.

Several scratches later I had rubbed through the plastic zips and patted down my thigh to find the little black throwing knife was still in its holster. I cut my legs free and massaged stiff wrists and ankles.

I tapped on the flat two inch wide display that clasped my forearm like a metal cuff. No lights, no pitiful beep; nothing. Kaput. The omnitool was deader than the Prothean Empire. Figures.

I scrambled to my feet, knuckling the small of my back. My spine aligned with a crack. Yup, definitely too old for this kind of nonsense.

I gave the window a wistful look but it was too high to reach by conventional means. Too bad my mediocre biotic skills would never allow me to master the art of levitation.

It made my options disheartening slim. I turned and inspected the rack that held the most irrational collection of old bean cans, moldy blankets, jars filled with screws and electronic trash. It probably would have made this MacGyver guy cream his pants; me, it only mocked with its uselessness.

With a shake of my head I tiptoed to the door and pressed my ear against the uneven steel. Silence. I fingered for a lock and found the telling slit of a card reader. My lips curled up. This was old tech and far from a high-sec lock. You fried the electronic and the bolts would snap right open.

I touched the reader; reached out to summon my biotics and –

Piercing agony stabbed from my brain through my whole body.

I dropped down on my knees and hunched over in pain; the scream only kept inside because I bit my lips bloody. I gasped and fought down the nausea that tried very hard to make me barf out all the meals I ever had. Just… curl up on the floor and die.

Bastards. Not only had they knocked me out, no, they had also pumped me with Omega-Enkaphalin. Once the biotic-suppressant would have caused me merely a mild headache but with my enhanced abilities it suddenly had an awful lot of active neurotransmitters to attach itself to.

Painful seconds stretched into awful minutes. I had barely gathered my wits once more when I heard footsteps approaching the door. As quick as I could I crawled to the middle of the room and lay down as I had before, pretending to be passed out. Which wasn't that hard to fake; my head felt as if someone had stuffed a handful of hot needles into it. Fainting, yeah, fainting seemed just like _the_ idea.

The door opened and closed again. Steps drew nearer. Through my lashes I could make out a medium sized, broad-shouldered silhouette. The figure crouched down next to me and stroked my ass. Wonderful. And there we go again...

"Hello sweetheart," a raspy male voice mumbled. "Let's have some fun as long as Narol is away. He doesn't approve, you know, but it's not as if you are going to tell him, right?"

The guard's hand slipped up the hem of my dress and I exploded into motion. I pushed off the floor and tackled him. He cursed and we toppled over, me landing ruggedly on top of him. I rammed my knee into his guts then slammed my fist against his chin. The guard's head hit the floor with a dull crack and then his body relaxed. I rolled off and lay there on my back, breathing hard, staring at the spinning ceiling. Fucking Omega-Enkaphalin!

Precious minutes passed until I finally pushed myself up. A quick search of the guard's body brought up three things: a scratched keycard, a gun that looked about as trustworthy as a volus black market arms dealer and the fact that he was a batarian. I left it at that. I had absolutely no desire to dig deeper into the pile of greasy clothes.

I checked the gun. Empty. Yeah…

I drew my knife and looked at the batarian's unconscious body. Then back at the little black blade. Dammit. I slit his throat, ignoring the sick feeling of guilt.

I opened the lock with the keycard, tucked it into my boot and cracked the door with the knife in one hand and the batarian's gun in the other. Outside was a storage hall of some sort, containing even more racks, lined up along the wall and arranged in long neat rows of two in front of me.

I choose to go right at random and sneaked towards the intersection between the last rack and the wall, wincing at each soft click of my heels. I even considered leaving the boots behind but one glance at the splits and rusty nails that littered the concrete floor made me think again. Last thing I needed was leaving a trail of bloody footprints.

I crouched low and peeked around the corner. Left and about thirty paces ahead I could make out the exit. It unfortunately also had a table next to it with two batarians and one turian playing cards. It was the one I had seen in the bar… lifting his blade at Garrus.

I clenched my fists so hard that the handles of the gun and the knife both bit painfully in my palms. I wanted to drag him into a world of pain and I wanted to start with a generous knuckle sandwich before I carved Garrus' name into his skull. And into his chest. And...

_Focus, Shepard._

I closed my eyes and counted from ten backwards. Finally I had myself in check once more and some of the tension left me.

"Ver'Nesh!" the turian slaver suddenly shouted. "Where are you, you misbegotten son of a stunted pyjak?"

Then he kicked the leg of the batarian to his left.

"Go and look for your incompetent brother. If he's damaging the wares again, I'll rip him a new asshole."

Cursing something in his native tongue, the batarian reluctantly pushed away from the table and came down the aisle. Unfortunately, they were about to realize any moment that only a medium would be able to hear Ver'Nesh answer, so I tiptoed past the door to the storeroom and cowered behind a crate.

The guard approached and opened the door. I switched the gun to my right hand.

"Wh…" the batarian begun and I hit him with the butt-end of the pistol hard against the temple. With a grunt his knees buckled and I gave him a push to fall into the room. He made much more noise than I liked.

"What was that?" the turian guard asked and the scraping of chairs echoed through the hall.

I had no time to search the batarian for another gun, so I hefted the knife and threw the empty pistol into the room. Two down, two more to go.

I shut the door from the outside and as quick and silent as I could, I ghosted further away from the storeroom. I skipped the first intersection and stopped at the end of the second rack, listening. Footsteps halted and I heard the happy chirp of the door lock. Ahead of me I saw a narrow shadowed gap between the rack running along the wall and a stack of metal crates. Three steps and I retreated sideward into the gap. I heard curses. The clicks of safeties coming off. The turian passed me by. A handful of seconds later, the last batarian walked into my view. I counted to three then sneaked out after him. From behind I snaked my arm around his neck, the additional height from the raised heels giving me just enough leverage to pull him backwards. He yelped and I heard the turian snarl from somewhere ahead of us. I pressed the knife to his neck.

"I'm sorry. Just one of those days when about nothing goes right..." I whispered, then shifted my grip and slashed his throat. Hot wetness, splashed my arms and I dropped him the moment the turian came out of the aisle.

He hissed and lifted his Shuriken SMG.

I scrambled backwards and around the corner, a rapid salve hitting the rack. I ran back the aisle leading to the storeroom, hoping fervently that the turian would be too mad to think about cutting off my way by coming around the other side of the rack. Bullets sizzled around me; I ducked my head and skittered around the edge of the last rack. I ran towards the exit, aisles opening to my left, heels clacking too loud in my ears, the turian behind me cursing.

_Aww, fuck this._

I would have never made it to the exit, anyway. And I still had a bone to pick with that sonovabitch.

I chose one of the seven aisles at random and halted at the next intersection, breathing heavy. The adrenaline in my veins was the only thing that kept me upright, the unhealthy cocktail of knockout drops and Omega-Enkaphalin still messing around with my body. My heart beat like a triple bass drum. Black tendrils and bright blotches crept into my vision. My head felt like stuffed with hot wool.

…and then I realized I couldn't hear the turian slaver any longer and whatever he was doing he sure as hell wasn't flipping through a Fornax issue.

Goddammit!

When backed into a corner, with all your ammo and options gone, your fingers slowly slipping from the end of your rope, mouth off.

"Hey dickhead!" Yup, I wasn't playing favorites. They probably should have engraved it on my memorial plate. "You missed! Do you miss with your other gun, too?" I shouted, slowly moving back to the aisle that lead to the exit.

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you human whore!"

I tried to locate him despite the blood rushing in my ears. Left. He was on the other side of the rack to my left. Gotcha. I ducked and peeked around the corner, blinking and forcing the black haze to retreat.

He was just a few paces away, his back to me. I wouldn't get a better chance so I rose and took on step in his direction. Something cracked under the sole of my boot. The turian swirled around with a snarl. And pulled the trigger.

I dodged to the right, red hair obstructing my view, splitters of concrete hitting my legs. Frantic, I threw my knife. It drilled into his hand and he dropped the gun with a yell. I jumped forward and kicked the gun he was about to pick up under the rack and out of reach. The small black asari blade still stuck in his hand. I had a split second to decide what desperate move to pull next. I chose to go for my knife. I yanked at the slender handle and the turian howled. It also brought me into his immediate reach.

The turian grabbed my arm and then the rack to our right raced towards me. Shoulder first I crashed against the metal frame. I gasped in pain, my left arm numbing. Somehow I managed to scramble out of broken cardboard boxes and swayed to an upright position, left hand brushing the hair off my face, right still clasping the knife.

"You will die in pain!" He growled and closed in on me, bloody murder in his eyes.

Boy, was I tired of this particular threat.

Before he could reach me, I dropped low and cut away his footing with my leg. Turians were usually fist fighters, and therefore relayed on their strength and ungodly reflexes rather than footwork, and the move caught him by surprise. He fell on his back and I hurled myself forward.

"Rest in pieces, asshole!" I hissed and drove the throwing knife through the hardened skin and deeply into the turian's jugular vein. I pulled and his protests died in a soft gurgle. I drew out my knife, straightened from my crouch and took another ragged breath. My knees almost buckled. But I made it. I frigging made it.

Suddenly someone chuckled behind me and I almost jumped out of my skin.

"Rest in pieces? Really, Shepard, you should have become a poet."

I turned around not believing my ears.

"You're alive…" I said softly, feeling dizzy, light-headed and on the brink of passing out.

Garrus strode along the aisle, lowering his sidearm. My gaze scanned over my friend but aside from a tear in his jacket he looked pretty much unharmed.

The turian snorted and raised the hardened skin above his eye. I had the weird feeling that it was gesture he had picked up from me.

"You sound surprised. I'm hard to kill; you should know that by now."

I chuckled. I just couldn't help it. I clamped my mouth shut; quickly, before it turned hysterical.

"Last one?" He pointed at the turian.

"So far… But how did you get here? I thought you were… you know..."

"Dead?" He finished, far too amused. Oi. There was something seriously wrong with us. "Well, our friend here, had me in quite the…hmm… predicament, so I told him I was a debt collector and you owed me."

"And they believed that?"

He shrugged. "I'm a good actor."

"What? You're a horrible actor; last time we played Skyllian Five you couldn't have fooled someone blind, deaf and brainless."

"Maybe because that was what _I_ wanted you to believe."

"So… losing your first-born to Tali is in fact part of some devious master plan?"

"Yah, let's not go there now. Anyway, I told them that your debt wasn't worth the trouble they would give me, so I ordered a drink and waited until this one left with you. Then I investigated where they would bring you and followed at a safe distance." He stopped and rubbed the back of his neck, looking around almost wishful. "Hmm. Had I known that the party would be over that fast, I would have picked up the pace."

"Sorry. I'm afraid we're out of 'damsel in distress' today and..."

I trailed off because I noted the turian's unnerving stare on me. I spared a moment for an objective reassessment of my appearance; rolled in dust, red wig disheveled, standing with my knife over the dead body of a turian slaver in fuck-me-boots and a dress hiked up to my crotch. Uhg.

"Are you hurt?"

Damn, the bloody man could probably outstare a bloody stone with that gaze.

"No," I said, rubbing at the red stains on my arms. "See? It's not my blood."

"I mean this," he replied, crossing the distance, then pushed back a red strand to brush over the spot where my collar bone and shoulder connected. The contact sent a jolt of pain down my arm and I flinched. There it was again. The sweet little tension that slithered through me despite the fact that I felt bruised down to my bones.

"It's nothing." I retreated a step. "Just a scratch."

The fighting and the adrenalin had already pushed buttons and the Omega-E wasn't helping either. If he kept touching my body, looking at me like that _…_ Ah yes. Better not go _there_.

His gaze dropped. "Damn, what happened to your leg?"

I looked down, the ragged scar on my thigh awfully exposed with the dress' hem not even remotely where it belonged.

I shrugged and nestled the leather back in place. "Haestrom happened."

_You weren't there…_

Oh great, another oh-so helpful observation.

Fortunately, a shout from the exit interrupted whatever questionable way the conversation would have wandered next.

"For the last fucking time, Quintus, if I call I expect one of you lazy bastards to pick up!"

"Boss," a second voice said. "They're not on their post."

"You, you, and you. Search them."

Great. This had to be Narol. And he brought friends. I shared a glance with Garrus, shaking my head at his unspoken question. I was in no shape to fight any more of them.

He nodded and mouthed, "Follow me."

Garrus led me to a narrow door hidden between two racks not far away from where I stabbed the last batarian. He swept a keycard through the lock and we hastened through. Outside I almost stumbled over another batarian body sitting in the doorframe. Was this…

"Wait, is this the barkeeper?" I asked aghast, looking back over my shoulder. It was kinda hard to tell because someone had been intent on rearranging every bone in his face. Sure, I had seen and dished out more than my share of violence, yet the two bloodied mushy sockets where his primary eyes had been did make my last meal back up into my mouth a bit.

"Yes," Garrus simply said, while we jogged over a fenced parking lot, my boots clicking smartly on the ground. None of the vehicles we passed looked roadworthy even by the loosest definition. "Barkeeper, Shepard. Shepard, Barkeeper. I think you two have met."

"Haha. Very funny. Didn't you say 'you investigated'?"

"I did. He refused to tell me where they brought you. I had to investigate what would give him an incentive."

"Are you fucking insane?"

"Maybe. Come on, this way," he said and steered directly towards an opening in the fence.

I open my mouth then closed it again. Logically, I should have been shocked and disgusted but _no-ooo_. Whatever rational words of rebuke I had on my tongue dissipated at the warm and fuzzy feeling that rose in my chest.

Suddenly, the door we had come through banged open.

"THERE! CATCH THEM!"

Bullets started flying and I ducked after Garrus through the hole in the fence. It opened into a murky alley framed by a windowless high-rise. I had not the slightest idea where we were so I simply started running after the turian, my heels hitting the pavement in a wild staccato that echoed through the alley. Goddamn boots!

Dirty curses from behind told me that Narol and his mob had discovered our exit. I ducked as a bullet sizzle just past my head and then we rounded another corner. The mouth of the alley was right ahead of us with beckoning lights and noises that promised the relative safety of a crowd.

We burst out of the narrow street and quickly steered past a moderate number of late shoppers and early party goers moving along one of Omega's many entertainment boulevards. I turned my head and saw three batarians running out of the alley. The first one shouted something unintelligible, pointed at me then started to push cursing people out of his way. I quickened my steps to catch up with Garrus.

"Move! They saw me!" I nudged the turian's back.

He picked up the pace and I followed him across the boulevard, glad that most people made easily way for him. Yells rose from behind and a quick glance back revealed that for once it was a good thing to be on Omega. The slavers had bumped into two drunken krogans. Krogans being, well, krogans, they had immediately jumped at the chance for a brawl with both feet.

With our pursuer's attention diverted, we quickly ducked into a side street. I yanked off the wig and tossed it into a dark corner, ruffling my hair. We were halfway down the block when I heard the first shots. Great. Just great. I looked over my shoulder. So far I couldn't see any batarians storming after us but certainly it could only be seconds before…

"I think we better hide…" Garrus mumbled all of a sudden and snatched my hand.

Then he pulled me sideways into a dim niche between a 24/7 laundry shop and a closed down bar. Before my dazzled mind could even form a protest I found myself trapped between his body and the side of the building. His arms stemmed against the wall next to my shoulders, head dipped to hover a few inches over my collarbone. His eyes, though, stared straight at the wall. Still, the very image of a couple enjoying some moment of privacy.

Oh boy. _This_ was so _not_ a good idea.

His breath tingled on my skin and I had to suppress the urge to gulp for air. My pulse pounded in my head as if I had run for my life. Well, actually I had.

I bit the corner of my lip. He was so close. So temptingly close.

_And still so fucking far away._

I watched the strong, inhuman angular outlines of his face that seemed to be chiseled from stone. My thoughts went back to the sheer desperation that had befallen me when I had thought he was gone from my life forever. The twisting pain that had felt like a knife stuck into my very soul.

It made me recall all those wrong decisions in my life, all the times when proximity had led to nothing but me getting hurt. All the times when this profound emptiness had threatened to swallow me and I had tried to replace it with meaningless sex - only to find myself even emptier than before.

I remembered Alchera, and the bone-deep sadness about missing the scarce chances to give my life something beyond being a machine, trained and conditioned to kill, but Morinth's words kept echoing in my mind.

_The likes of us are not meant for a peaceful life… How long? How long can you endure without fighting?_

They were painfully true. Peace was a concept my rationality cherished and treasured; but which my heart had never been able to comprehend in full. And probably never would. Who was I kidding? The blood of all the lives I had taken was filling a vast lake, with me wading knee-deep through it. It was all I had to offer. What was wrong with me that I even considered dragging someone else into this mess?

 _Except…_ A small voice was whispering in my head, _Except that he is already wading through his very own lake, isn't he?_

I raised my left hand. Warning bells shrieked in my head but I ignored them. Along with better knowledge, reason and all my unspoken doubts. I was so dead and hollow inside it seemed almost a physical pain. I _needed_ to find out. I _needed_ to feel. Something. Anything.

I brushed with the back of my fingers over his cheek and along the edge of the scar marring the turian's face.

"What..." he begun, his eyes still glued to some spot behind me. Shouts flittered over from the boulevard and we both tensed simultaneously.

"Shh... We hide..." I said.

Suddenly he put his hand on my waist, and even with the leather of the dress between us my heart skipped a beat upon the contact. It was impossible to tell if his touch was meant to halt or to encourage, though.

"Shepard..."

He said softly and the slight disharmonies in his low timbre struck a chord of such delight inside me that it reverberated through my whole body, almost yanking me to the ground. Or maybe it was merely the Omega-Enkaphalin eating its way through my system.

"This is a bad idea..." He resumed, but his hand had started to caress my waist with tiny circular motions. Which utterly belied his words, I daresay.

"Mhm-hmm." I murmured absently, while sliding my fingers towards his neck and kneading my way upwards to the base of his skull.

The turian swallowed hard. I watched how the muscles in his throat worked and the most entertaining image of tracing the movement with my tongue fluttered across my mind. Heaven help me. The surface was so far gone, I couldn't even remember seeing it.

"We shouldn't..." Garrus tried again.

He still wasn't looking at me, but as if he could read my thoughts, the movements along my waist grew more… firm and with each stroke another chip of reason was slowly stripped away from me.

Yep, a _very_ bad idea.

"I know..." I said, my voice husky with things I didn't even dare to name.

He turned his head and if not for my back already pressed to the wall I would have retreated a step. The once so icy gaze was smoldering with such raw intensity that it stabbed straight into my to cupholders reduced sex organs and set them on fire. And underneath… Unable to pull away I stared back, at the savage hunger I found underneath.

A hunger, reflecting my own.

The shouts drew closer, but we were still too caught up with searching each other's gaze. For permission. For answers. For sanity. For redemption.

No going back to what we've been. But perhaps it had already been too late for us anyway.

For the first time in my life I truly let go.

I stopped being Shepard.

I stopped being Ivy.

I just _was_ ; a resurrected, emotionally twisted madwoman with a soft spot for sunflowers and rebels of all kind; who would die for coffee in the morning and always kissed her guns before riding into hell.

And then the madwoman stepped forward. My mouth met his. The hand on my waist froze. For three heartbeats nothing happened…

… and then he _kissed_ me back.

Gently he nipped at my lips, then brushed the spot with the tip of his tongue. It was rough and yet smooth, teasing and yet promising, alien and yet strangely familiar. He moved along my mouth, exploring its curves with an equally teasing deliberateness, as if to memorize each and every little detail of it.

My lips parted and I drew him in.

Feelings, I thought had since long withered away and died, exploded in my mind like a bomb of color. His arms wrapped around my back. I slid my tongue along his, not caring at all for the rows of sharp teeth, and clasped both hands around his neck, holding him close, but it wasn't close enough.

For a small eternity we hung in this magical place where time had no meaning and the universe ceased to exist. Footsteps echoed sharply through the empty street. Guttural batarian voices grew louder and louder, then died away once more as they passed us within maybe half a dozen yards. I couldn't bring myself to care. Hell, not even if Harbinger and its friends had descended on us this very second I would have been able to stop. I wasn't sure if I _knew_ how to stop any longer.

Suddenly the turian pulled back and kissed an invisible trail along my jaw, down my neck until he buried his head into the crook of my neck. Help. Me. Someone had poured molten fire into my veins and it seethed away the last meager attempts of my conscience to cry for reason.

I felt his hands running down my back and then he stopped whatever he was doing to my neck. I could have howled with frustration. Need was tugging sharply at my groins and I pulled up my right leg to press it against his pronounced hip bone. The sniper's hand on my dress slid lower, past the small of my back and past my butt, until his rough, warm palm stroked along the rear side of my raised thigh. Then moved up and inwards ever so slowly. I bit back a moan and he flexed his fingers. The tips of his claws pressed against the sensitive skin at the base of my inner thigh, tossing my body into a hormonal overkill. Suddenly, he cupped my buttocks and the next moment I lost ground contact altogether. I wrapped my legs around his waist and yanked him nearer towards my center.

And again it wasn't even remotely near enough.

Sneaking my hands under Garrus' open jacket, I grabbed his shoulders. Through his shirt I could sense the hard outlines that defined his lean but muscular shape. And the warmth radiating from his body. My legs tightened. I wanted him to rub his bare skin against mine; to push forward and fill the cold emptiness inside me with the fires of his soul.

I wanted him so badly, it scared the living daylight out of me.

I leaned in and the familiar scent of rocks heated by a desert sun enfolded me. There I fastened my lips on the undamaged side of his neck, tasting salt and metal and sun, circling the alien texture of his skin with my tongue. Rough, yes; and yet so much softer than the rest... I succumbed to the urge to graze the spot with my teeth and was rewarded with a low, sexy rumble caught somewhere between a growl and a purr. The sound triggered something so deep, so utterly primeval female that it made me gently bite the boney base of his jaw, just so I could hear it again.

The turian complied.

A faint tremor ran through his body and his fingers dug into my lower back. Common sense said I should be afraid of the predator crowding my personal space, afraid of the dangers that lay in his touch and yet there I was, squirming in his arms and experiencing a level of safety I've never known before. Common sense, huh? Go to hell.

"Wait," he suddenly said. "Shepard, wait."

It took me the better part of five seconds to process the meaning behind his words and another five to pull my lips away from his face. My spinning world lurched to a halt.

Now? He wanted to cop out NOW?

I stared at him incredulously? Indignantly? Yeah, maybe a bit of both.

Someone softly cleared his throat and I swear I almost died of a heart attack for the second time that night.

He released me with a wry grin and I magically found my footing despite my shaking knees. I looked past Garrus.

From the middle of the street the Justicar watched us sternly, arms crossed below her breasts. I took one step away from the turian.

Kill me now, anybody.

For another long, embarrassing moment, Samara's unmoving expression faced me. I filled the silence with my attitude.

"Uh, it's not how you think it looks like?"

I sneaked one hand to my back to straighten my dress without drawing attention. Garrus snickered. Ah yes. Turns out there's no way to be unobtrusive about a hem that had ridden past your belly button.

The red ornaments on the asari's forehead climbed up. "So? How do you think I think it looks like?"

"What are you doing here, anyway?" I growled, dragging the unruly hem back to where it belonged. Commander Shepard, master of evasion.

"I was worried. You weren't where we were supposed to meet. And your omni-tool wouldn't respond," Samara said reproachful.

I glanced at my arm. A neat crack ran through the display containing the holo-projector and the main board. I winced. "Look, I'm sorry. There were those slavers and…"

That was when I realized that below the stern mask, Samara was trying very hard to hide a smirk. I threw up my hands.

"They knocked me out, kidnapped me… why don't _you_ say anything?" I asked the turian who had grown suspiciously busy with inspecting his hands.

"Whatever you say, Shepard," he replied, hilariously amused about my respectability getting dragged out in backyard by the firing squad.

"You _do_ realize that you're not making _any_ thing better with this, yes?"

He lifted his palms in defense. "Why, Shepard, I'm just trying to be helpful."

"Really? What kind of demented help is that?"

He even had the nerve to wink at me. "You're welcome." Insufferable man.

Samara had watched the exchange silently. The corners of her lips twitched.

Ticked, I glared at both of them and crossed my arms before me. "Yeah, glad to be a constant source of amusement for you. By the way, how did you find us?"

She looked at Garrus and he shrugged. "When I knew where they brought you, I send her a message that we might need a lift from there."

Samara nodded. "That is correct. As for the rest… I told you I was worried. So I contacted Mrs. Lawson to send me the codes to your tracking transmitter."

I grimaced but ignored the prickling itch between my shoulder blades. Tracking transmitter. Why wasn't I surprised?

"I see," I said rubbing my forehead. Now that the adrenaline had worn off I only felt sore, tired and queasy.

Suddenly the Justicar's omni-tool started to hum softly. She opened the message console and her eyes widened.

"Shepard. We need to get back to the Normandy."


	17. The enemy of my enemy

Started off as a one night stand. Lingered to a fling.  
The sirens and the sergeants didn't seem to mean a thing.  
Hide your fangs all you want, you still need the blood.  
Tell us that it's different now, you're up to no good.

Take my hand, show me the way, we are the children that fell from grace.  
Take my hand, show me the way, we are the children who can't be saved.

One more nail in the coffin. One more foot in the grave.  
One more time I'm on my knees, as I try to walk away

How has it come to this?

I've said it once. I've said it twice. I've said it a thousand fucking times.  
That I'm OK, that I'm fine. That it's all just in my mind.  
But this has got the best of me. And I can't seem to sleep.  
It's not 'cause you're not with me. It's 'cause you never leave.

_Bring me the Horizon – It never ends_

* * *

**~ The enemy of my enemy ~  
**

"Just lemme see if I got this straight, Miranda," I said, absently tugging at the too short hem of the dress I hadn't had time to change out, and frowned at the comm device that spilled my XO's agitated voice into the cabin of the shuttle. "Not only did the Illusive Maniac successfully lure the Collectors into clearing out Horizon, he then also leaned back in his chair and watched how we jumped like morons at a distress signal, whose falsified nature he 'forgot' to mention. But hey, we managed under great personal risk to obtain Collector data, so what's the deal? He let us dig through tons of junk data and siphoned off the results behind our backs. He knew _exactly_ what he was looking for and when he found it he sent off another team, all the while laughing up his sleeve because we were still stumbling around in the dark."

It had never been about the colonies. It had been about me being an obedient bitch, tugging on leashes until I found a Reaper at their end. As soon as we outlived our usefulness the Illusive Asshole would fuck us over in a heartbeat and everybody knew it. Everybody except Miranda.

"That's maybe a little drastic."

I eyed the shuttle's console. "Oh yeah? So what about _your_ security clearance? You're certainly up high enough to have gotten the memo."

"I already told you, I did not know! There is nothing about it in the databases!"

I rubbed my face trying to let some of the tension go. Somewhere behind my eyes the lingering Omega-Enkaphalin was wreaking havoc in my brain, treating me to the headache of my life. The Normandy was just another hour away. I simply had to keep going.

"I realize that, Miranda. And it doesn't bode well. You can't honestly believe that we would have ever learned of Mnemosyne's anomaly if EDI hadn't reconstructed that they must use some kind of IFF to get through the Omega-4 Relay?"

The woman on the other side of the radio turned silent. Then she sighed in resignation. "I don't know what to believe. It makes no sense to hide the information from us and... I need to speak with Jacob. Lawson out."

"The Illusive Man seems like a man who does not give up his secrets easily." Samara noted from her seat behind me. "He must want us to use this Relay very badly..."

I nodded. I knew why _I_ wanted to surprise the Collectors on their home turf. The sixty-four-thousand dollar question was why did he? I wasn't buying an inch of his Cerberus-only-wants-to-serve-humanity show.

"You know, Shepard, this should be our signal to head straight for the other direction," Garrus added from the pilot's seat next to mine. "Think about it, this can as easily be another setup. And just because it seems likely that all Collector tech derived from the Reapers, the IFF they use _still_ could be something else entirely."

I grimaced. All too true. The derelict Reaper, that got trapped eons ago in Mnemosyne's orbit, was indeed a wild and risky stab in the dark. Still, regardless of the Illusive Man's agenda, it was past time to jam a few sticks into Harbinger's wheels and the IFF would help us to get our hands on a real big stick. There was just the bothersome detail that we didn't even know what exactly we had to look for. It could be an unobtrusive kind of black box they hooked up with the communication systems or some complex algorithm that had to be let loose on the ships' main controls.

A heavy silence filled the shuttle. My thoughts recoiled from the grim possibility that Garrus was right and we might just as well found ourselves trapped on yet another ship that wasn't quite as dead as it was supposed to be. Instead I sneaked a glance at the turian, feeling a strange mixture of exhilaration and embarrassment. So far neither of us had issued any further comments on the latest, uhm, "incident" and now that I had time to pull my wits together once more, the better part of me would gladly keep on pretending that nothing had happened at all. Again.

Maybe the trick was simply to stop kissing him. The first time might still pass off as an accident, but the second already begged for trouble, and a third time would certainly be a sign for an insanity that had blown out of any proportions. I mean, let's face it; we weren't just going nowhere with this, no, we were running straight into a dead end, all flags flying. Hell, not even the very essence of our bodies was compatible with each other. The best for both of us would be to scrape up what was left of our dignity and carefully back off before this ticking bomb could fly in our faces.

Only… I was no longer sure that I was strong enough to sever the ties and walk away. Instead I was stalling and the longer I stayed, the more painful the wakeup call would be…

There simply were no white picket fences in my world.

Lazarus had rendered me barren, and when I looked into my future I saw no children, no husband, no peace. Just the same stubborn me, growing older and grimmer, while manning Alliance' trenches and killing enemies with much bloodshed. If 'fucked-up' had a dictionary entry, it would sport my picture below. I perfectly _knew_ that sooner or later one of us wouldn't dodge the bullet in time. If it would be him, it would devastate me; and that I still wanted to be with him scared me more than facing a hundred maws ever could.

I watched his angular profile. If the bullet would hit me… I had seen the hurt in his eyes when he recalled the death of a woman he never had the chance to be with. Damn it, mine had already left a dent on him and I had merely been a comrade-in-arms back then.

I shut my eyes and turned my face away. Wrong. This was all wrong. No matter how much I wanted to, someone with a life like mine would only bring him even more pain. I simply needed to end this drama before it would damage us any further. God, I started to sound like a broken record. My head dropped against the headrest and I listened to Samara and Garrus chatting quietly about some new old Thessian armorer until sleep shut me down.

It still had been one hell of a kiss.

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

One of the first things I realized when leaving Palaven during my basic training was that there was no such thing as privacy on a spaceship.

Curiously human ship crew seemed to fall mostly in one of two camps. Those that would be content with quietly minding their own business, while meticulously pretending they wouldn't know each other's bathroom habits - and bad-tempered thugs who lived to scowl about menacingly and make everybody feel unwelcome in their immediate vicinity.

I had no idea why those thugs always had a tendency to feel very welcome in _my_ immediate vicinity.

"You need something, Jack?" I finally asked, my attention hanging still on the grey plastic case that sat in front of me on the Mess' table.

It was a nondescript, two spans wide box, closed with a metal latch; the sort of case you used for storing away precision tools. A derelict Reaper was waiting for us no two hours away, the Cerberus team we should meet there had gone silent shortly after Chandrasekhar Relay spilled us out into the system, yet instead of getting some shut-eye and prepare, I worried if it had been wise to dig out this dumb box from the bottom of my belongings. My training instructor would rotate in his grave.

"No. I just wonder if I should lean back and enjoy the drama," the tattooed convict said and I craned my neck to find her behind the galley, pouring herself a mug of dark liquid. At some point it might have been coffee, but after sitting on the stove the whole morning it rather resembled motor oil.

Mug in hand she strode over to me and lifted the upper half of the case with her index finger. Then she whistled, dropped the lid and slid her butt onto the table next to the box, one booted foot prodded on the chair to my right. A decidedly demonic smile curved her dark lips, flashing me her blocky teeth.

"Alright, Vakarian. Think you can melt a woman's heart with this?"

I leaned back and crossed my arms. "Can you refresh my memory? I really can't remember since when we ask homicidal borderline sociopaths to judge these things…"

She lowered the mug and gave me her psycho stare. "Fuck you, I have my soft spots as well!"

I snorted. "I hate to disappoint you -" Seriously? I didn't. "- but running around and turning your enemies into smears on the wall doesn't exactly qualify as a soft spot."

"Hey, I can be quite emotive about it," she huffed without even batting an eye. The woman was incredible.

I pushed the box a bit away from her. "Don't you say. Before or after you shout 'I'm going to skull-fuck you'?"

She pointed her mug at me. "Careful. Stop pushing your luck, Vakarian. Look, I kinda… uh, like y- the fact that you're not a total asshole like most people, so I'm going to give you some advice. For free."

I almost choked on the air caught in my throat. "Is this some sort of trick question? The kind where ALL answers lead to a very painful death?"

"No, you idiot. It's me trying to fucking help you."

"Can you repeat that? I think I got an apoplexy after the last sentence…"

The convict gave me a glare that told me I was merely alive because she was running out of places to hide the bodies and I sighed.

"Alright, Jack. I guess I'm going to regret this in about ten seconds flat, but shoot. Please."

"You really have to get over with it! It's getting ridiculous."

"Get over with what?"

She threw up her hands, spilling some of her motor oil. "For someone who constantly boasts to have outsmarted an AI at calibrating the ships' weapon systems, you're rather sluggish on the uptake."

"Help, thinly veiled insults - why am I not surprised that it's all the same to you? Besides, I merely stated a fact." I was really growing tired of her nonsense.

"Uhg, stop whining, you sound like a pussy," Jack replied snidely then added an extra portion of maniac for my benefit. "I mean you and Shepard." She grimaced as if she had bitten into a rotten piece of meat. "Watching you… Dammit, it's worse than watching two retarded trying to hump a doorknob!"

My mind tried to produce an appropriate visualization to this kind of metaphor and failed pitifully.

"How… charming."

The convict rolled her eyes. "Stop dicking around and get your scarred ass up there."

"What?"

"Oh, for fuck's… You take the lift, storm her cabin, bend her over the next piece of furniture and nail her for all your worth. Want me to draw a map?"

"I think that won't be necessary," I hastened to say, craning my neck to find thankfully no one else within earshot. "I most certainly won't…" I continued, fumbling to finish the sentence without sounding strangled. "…do any, uh, bending over. No nailing or humping either."

_Real smooth, Vakarian. Had it been a persuasion contest you would have certainly won hands down._

Jack commented my brilliant response with a short snort. "Of course not. _You_ rather sit around like a loaded gun and stare at a plastic box. Wondering…"

Suddenly her mouth twitched and she leaned forward, licking the edge of her scared upper lip with the tip of her pinkish tongue. It probably was meant to be suggestive but the crazy light that danced behind her dark eyes merely stirred up the desire to draw my knife and clutch my pants as if my life depended on them. Massani was a madman. Sleeping with someone like Jack was a creative, but not very clever way to commit suicide.

Her voice dropped. "Wondering, how fucking good it would feel to have her right now, to plunge into her ready body, to make her…"

"Will you shut up?" I growled, shoving her leering face out of my peripheral view and away from me. It was disproportionately harder to shove the notion out of my head. "What is wrong with you?"

"Many, many things."

Sometimes the only way out was to jump in at the deep end. I grabbed my box and got up. With a scowl I pointed my finger at her.

"You. Are a menace."

She snickered. "Relax, Vakarian. No need to look as if you just had a hemorrhoid attack. I'm doing you a favor here."

"Know what? Go to hell…" I said over my shoulder.

She sipped on her mug and shrugged. "Yeah, yeah. Been there and guess, what? They won't take me back..."

**.~'*'~.**

"Shepard, I need to talk to…"

The cabin was empty. Instead I heard the shower running. Askew I watched the door that lead to the bathroom.

"Do you want me to inform the Commander of your presence?" EDI asked.

"No. I think I just come back later," I said slowly, chasing away the image of me walking in there and ravishing her under a hot shower.

At least Jack had been right in one point – there was something about Shepard that managed to lay waste to all my self-control and turn me into a needy primitive. It was troubling how difficult it had been for me to let go of her, regardless that I'd been aware of the Justicar's presence.

It was a rather worrisome development. We didn't pride ourselves for our relentless discipline merely out of a whim. Being a turian meant growing up with an awful lot of rules and an even stricter conditioning of mind and body. We usually avoided excesses and kept our own desires on a short leash. Staying calm and thinking things through before acting. Order. Sticking to the given hierarchy. It was a concept that not only earned our forces the respect of the other races but also allowed us to channel our martial nature and move past our savage heritage. We were probably much closer to the krogans in spirit as most of us might want to admit. Ironic, but the longer I thought about it the more I believed that this was in fact the primal root of all strife between our species.

Unfortunately my behavior regarding the Commander wasn't the only problem bothering me. Every turian had to find a way to cope with our inborn violence and I usually sought my vents within controlled boundaries. This time though… The batarian barkeeper had told me everything I wanted to know. There had been no point in hurting him any further. But the thought that he was involved in bringing Shepard pain had snapped something in me. Never before had I lost control over my temper like this, not on Invictus, not when I heard about the Normandy's destruction, not after Mierin had died in my arms and not even when I faced Sidonis.

There was a word for this kind of frenzy and I didn't like its implications. Not at all.

I stared across the room at her bed.

Even with all awkwardness and intercultural fallout set aside, I hadn't an inkling of an idea what her motivation was in here. For all I knew she could merely be looking for a friend who would distract her from her worries for a night or two. Even if – and it was big fat if – we walked the whole distance what would she expect us to do afterwards? Shake hands and return to business as usual?

I knew Shepard, the soldier. I knew her weapon preferences and usual combat strategies, that she more likely kicked than punched or that she, although an excellent vanguard, still tended to neglect her left flank.

But Shepard, the woman? There I drew a blank every time I believed to have figured her out.

One moment she would let me in and show me the silent desperation of slowly being pulled under by her personal demons; only to shut me out the next and turn once more into the untouchable commander that existed merely for the cause…

And still. I couldn't deny that there was a certain appeal in trying again to stagger her long enough to make her drop her guards and let me see the woman she tried so hard to hide behind.

Suddenly, I realized that I couldn't hear the water any longer but before I could turn around and fall back towards the elevator, the bathroom door opened and Shepard emerged, wearing black sweatpants and a gray sleeveless shirt. She was toweling off her hair, then saw me and gave a start.

"Garrus?"

"Sorry…" I begun, wincing. "I didn't mean to…"

"Never mind…" she intercepted with a weak smile and slung the towel around her shoulders.

We carefully watched each other, the silence stretching uncomfortably. I gathered my resolve and held out the box.

"Ah, I have something for you. Thought you might like it…"

"A bribe, Officer Vakarian?" She took the box, her mouth quirking in amusement.

"Why Shepard, don't you think I know better than trying to bribe my Commander?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

I snorted. "Just open the damn thing."

With a chuckle she sat the box on her desk and flipped the lid open. Inside was a black Stiletto. It had certainly seen better days but it was the same model she had used back on the first Normandy, never missing an opportunity to tell me at great lengths why Haliat Armory made the best guns.

Shortly after coming to Omega I had glimpsed the pistol by chance while trading for information with that quarian working one of the countless local pawn shops. Her death had still been fresh and seeing the gun had rubbed off the thin layer of scab, leaving the small but deep wound bloody and raw once more. It was when I realized I owned no other memento of my time with her than my memories and suddenly I had felt like they weren't enough.

She looked first at the gun then at me in bewilderment. The towel slid from her shoulders and dropped to the deck. For a moment I feared I had breached some kind of human custom, but then her expression softened and lighted up.

"Thank you," she said slowly. "You have no idea how much I miss my old Stiletto…" Her slim fingers traced the outlines of the slide as if caressing it and...

I cleared my throat. "Just… Don't get too excited. I have never properly checked her. She might not even work..."

The Spectre chuckled, took the gun up it fell apart with a few practiced clicks. "Have some faith in your fellow turian armorers." She looked over the parts. "I think the cooling unit might need a look-over, but the rest? Good as new."

Shepard assembled the gun once more and sat it back down into its box. There she hesitated, her hand still touching the gun, strands of wet hair darkening her shirt and sending drops down her arms. Tension hung between us like thick enough to slice it with a knife.

"So…" I begun but my conversational skills failed me. _'You're whipping my instincts into a frenzy '_ along with ' _I dreamed last night about the two of us slaying a maw and then having sex in the dirt'_ suddenly didn't seem like the smartest openers.

She arched her brow at me. "So?"

"A derelict Reaper, huh? Can't say that things ever get boring with you." … and we were back to square one. If evasiveness wasn't my secret superpower…

The Commander shrugged. "I live to amuse."

"And here I thought it was all about issuing suicidal orders."

"Blah-blah-blah."

"Humans. Always so witty and eloquent with the comeback..."

She crossed her arms before her. "You know, actually I think _you_ still owe me a rematch, Vakarian."

"I'm not sure, Shepard. Are you certain your ego can handle another rubdown?"

Her eyes widened. "Luck! It was nothing but luck. If my leg hadn't been compromised..."

"Excuses, Shepard, excuses. You can just as well admit you won't take me down on your best day."

A dangerous glint entered her eyes and she slightly shifted her balance as if to attack. "Aha. I'll remind you when you've run yourself into the ground trying to catch up. Strength is nothing without endurance."

"Oh, I can assure you, _my_ endurance is just fine." I fixed her with a level gaze, my feet rooted to the deck. If Shepard thought she could make me back up with her thousand-yard stare, she would be in for a disappointment.

Her lips twitched into a smile as sinful and old as sapient life. "Maybe we should put your endurance to a test, then."

 _Careful, Vakarian. Proceed with extreme caution._ "We're still talking about sparring, are we?"

"Of course we do," she replied smoothly and spread her hands. "What have _you_ thought?"

"Nothing."

Her wry smile told me she knew were both full of it. Alright then.

"Hangar at twenty-two hundred?"

_No, Shepard, I think we should better not go there. You're about the only friend I have left and the chances that we screw this up are skyrocketing. I couldn't bear loosing you like that._

I grinned at her."I'll be there."

* * *

**~V~**

* * *

_If a derelict Reaper falls upon a brown dwarf and nobody is left alive to witness, does it make a sound?_

Grim-faced I made my way through the lab deck of the dead silent research ship with my two Cerberus agents in tow. Equipment, papers and overthrown tables littered the ground. I passed half a dozen shattered Petri dishes. A good thing the Normandy had been equipped with the latest generation of space suits. Three times as thick as my usual combat gear, they kept the hostilities of dark space for a good ten hours at bay and the oxygen supply would keep whatever had escaped those dishes from entering my lungs.

I crouched down and turned another Cerberus scientist in a once pristine white lab coat on his back. It was just… I had to be sure. Tall and slender as a blade he had short black hair peppered with gray. The empty sockets of his eyes stared back at me from a gaunt face stained with dried blood. Fuck. I was so goddamn tired of being one minute late and one dollar short.

Through the radio I heard a soft hiss.

"It's Dr. Chandana," Miranda voice said in my helmet and she stopped next to me.

"You knew him well?" I asked noticing that his bloodied fingers were clasped around something.

"No. But I know some of his dossiers; that man was a genius in his field of work. He studied the impact of electromagnetic fields on synapses and methods to stimulate them to substitute for damaged cells tissue or enhance the functionality of healthy neurocytes… Commander, I don't like this. We have teams specialized in working with artificial intelligence. The Illusive Man should have never sent someone like Chandana..."

Except...

Carefully I pried his right hand open. A tattered ball of maroon and white tissue rolled from his palm and hit the deck. Ugh.

"Except if his expertise is _exactly_ what you need…" I said and straightened to face her.

"You mean… No. No, Shepard that's impossible," Miranda replied with an expression behind her helmet's visor as if I had accused her of devouring small children.

I sighed. "Take a look around, ten to one they came to study indoctrination."

The Cerberus agent turned thoughtful. "Maybe they were searching for a countermeasure?"

"Yeah. Maybe." And maybe Hell was sprouting lily pads.

I ghosted past a tall female body a few steps ahead. She had a scissor sticking in her carotid artery. The lab assistant still had her eyes, but whatever they had seen it had twisted her heart-shaped face into a grotesque mask of dread.

"Any ideas how long they've been here?" I asked instead.

"I checked the log," Jacob begun, operating a console at one of the desks. "According to the records the ship docked eight orbits ago."

That would be roughly six days ago. An uneasy sense of foreboding crept upon me.

It had taken us four hours to get from Omega back to the ship. I then had a chat with the Illusive Man and he confirmed that the team would expect us. Whatever game he was playing, I had a feeling he would have mentioned if the crew had appeared on the brink of committing collective suicide. From the Chandrasekhar relay we had needed around 40 hours to reach Mnemosyne. 33 hours ago the ship had fallen silent. The scientists were about six hours dead. Whatever residual mojo the derelict Reaper was packing, it had hit them hard enough to drive them utter nuts within the course of less than five days.

"Is there anything in those logs that tells us what they've been really up to?"

"Not exactly. They made a few trips into the ship, set up sensors and…" He whistled. "They tried to salvage the Reaper's blue box."

"Did they succeed?"

"I'm not sure. Towards the end the records get increasingly erratic. It seems they suffered from extreme hallucinations."

Peachy. Just peachy.

"We go in and look for ourselves then. EDI?"

"Your best chance is accessing the Reaper's main control. Its location is presumably near the drive core. I will send you the coordinates."

"Just remember," Joker's voice filtered over the radio. "If you stumble over a bunch of weird eggpods, we have all the right to refuse you."

"Not funny, Jeff."

I walked towards the airlock. A dark brown handprint coated the pad of the access control. Someone had tried to get out. Or to let something in...

_It's Normandy. Not Nostromo. Dammit Joker._

I opened the lock and my two faithful Cerberus companions followed me into the small chamber. Jacob locked the door and Miranda bestowed it with a discontented glance. The space suit successfully bereft her of her primary weapon and it made her itchy. The harder your worked those tiny element zero nodules, the more static charge you gave off in the process. It's even less thrilling than it sounds if you just deflected a handful of bullets with a Barrier only to find out that your body short-circuited the control unit of your oxygen supply.

That was why I trusted my knives. They needed no reload and they _always_ worked.

The air emerged from the chamber with a muzzled hiss, balancing the pressure to equal the space outside. I opened the lock on the other side. Through a large gaping hole I stared into the pitch black inside of a Reaper.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

I pushed away from the airlock and floated through the opening. Inside I felt myself descending and after a short drop my boots hit the deck with a soft clunk. The Reaper was still maintaining a weak gravitational field. Not much, but enough to keep my feet on the floor. I drew my gun, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I was in some aisle, its diameter perhaps twice my height. Ahead a faint light beckoned me. I followed the aisle for another twenty yards, Jacob and Miranda bringing up the rear. There it opened into a vast chamber, bisected by a runway that stretched almost impossibly long before us. Holes, some as wide as a small skycar had been punched into the Reaper's hull. To the right they opened into the darkness of space, to the left I could see the massive boiling plasma sphere of Mnemosyne, illumining the inside with a soft reddish light, while the Reaper unperturbed drifted along its orbit. As it had for eons.

I gave myself a mental push and kept walking on a runway that had likely already been old at a time when dinosaurs ruled Earth. It was hard to wrap your mind around the notion that the Reaper's tech was so ancient and at the same time so freakishly far ahead of ours. Where the Collector ship had merely given off an odd alien vibe, the Reaper slapped you in the face with its inconceivability. I tried to estimate the ends of the chamber but the angles and edges seemed to blur and bend all wrong. Despite its vastness the room conveyed a disturbing feeling of claustrophobia, lessened only by the wounds an ancient war machine had ripped into the Reaper some 37 million years ago, giving our eyes a window back to reality. Glistening tubes and cable harnesses as thick as the thighs of an adult krogan crowded the high ceiling above us like the bulging veins of some gargantuan beast. I turned my head and on the edges of my peripheral vision they suddenly seemed to crawl slowly over the walls. My eyes darted back. Nothing moved.

_In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming._

Ah yes. Should have left the old paperback from Kasumi's book rack alone.

"The walls..." Miranda suddenly said, her voice sounding oddly afar. "They look as if they're shifting..."

"I know. Just a trick of the eye." At least that was what I was telling myself. "Let's keep moving."

Silently we hurried along the runway. I fixed my gaze on a platform ahead. Two further runways spread out from there, one leading left, the other right. On the intersection the Cerberus scientists had set up a mobile lab complete with an assortment of strange looking devices. It must be mentioned survey station. Miranda made a beeline for the terminal and I looked over my shoulder and past Jacob. The way back appeared at least twice as long as it actually had been.

I checked the navpoint EDI had sent to my suit. According to the Reaper's energy signature the drive core should be somewhere beyond the wall ahead and below our position. I peeked over the rail. Darkness coiled underneath the platform like a thick impenetrable fog. Although my logic told me that the drop could only be a hundred feet max, on some primal level I just _knew_ that if I jumped over the rail I would fall forever.

Miranda's soft curse drew my gaze away from the beckoning abyss.

"What is it?"

"They weren't just after the blue box. They planned to bring it back online."

"Please don't tell me they succeeded…"

"No they didn't. They gained access to the core's data clusters but then they realized there isn't enough energy left to supply the main controls _and_ to keep the Reaper in its orbit. The core is extremely instable. Any significant energy shift could tip it over the edge. Some engineers were working on stabilizing the core but they apparently encountered… issues. "

"Issues?"

"Equipment vanishing, measured data getting messed up, hard disks wiped clear, that sort of issues."

"You think one of the scientists tried to sabotage the project?"

"Unlikely, Shepard. Our people are dedicated to their work."

Behind Miranda, Jacob made a face.

_Uh-huh, as dedicated as Wilson, I bet._

"I think they were already affected by all… this." She made an encompassing gesture with her hands. "Some even claimed that the ship was watching them."

I nodded, stoically ignoring the prickle between my shoulder blades. Oh yeah, better and better.

We followed the runway to the left. If my sense of orientation wasn't completely off it should eventually lead to the center where the drive core was located. The runway bent right and we followed its path until it opened to another chamber. A telling blue sheen tinted the damaged walls. To our right the drive core hulked below us.

"Damn, it's huge…" Jacob said solemnly.

Faint and flickering the drive core had about five times the size of the Normandy's and it was in its death throes. I stepped towards the edge of the platform, the glow of the core drawing me like a swamp light.

"EDI? We reached the drive core. Can you…" Nothing but static noise greeted me. I turned to my Cerberus agents. "Can one of you reach the ship?"

"Negative."

Nothing but to keep going then. I spotted a narrow ladder and climbed down. My breath sounded too loud for my ears.

Thick cables fanned out from the core, some running across the deck, others hanging above me like lianas in a bizarre synthetic jungle. They connected with dozens of terminals that seemed to merge seamlessly with the walls. Eerie blue shadows danced on the tech around me and I rounded the base of the massive field stabilizer that kept the core in its place. If Cerberus had managed to hack into the systems perhaps we could…

I stopped in my tracks. Someone stood in front of the core's main control. The housing of the control unit had been ripped off, connecting the inside and the shape's belly with cables. Not someone. Something. Behind me I heard Jacob gasp. The gun sprang back into my hand almost on its own.

The thing turned its head and its glowing photoreceptor focused on me.

"Shepard-Commander. We're most pleased to finally meet you."

**.~'*'~.**

Over the barrel of my gun I watched the geth watching me.

"I think we found our saboteur…" Jacob mumbled, taking up position to my left.

Geth didn't speak. Geth were machines, they didn't care about being pleased. And most certainly Geth didn't fix themselves with pieces of dented N7 armor that looked suspiciously like mine.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, carefully eyeing the geth for any sign of threat.

"We seek to understand the Old Machines."

"The Old Machines? You mean the Reapers?"

"Yes. Reapers."

"Why did you sabotage the scientists' equipment, then?"

"They worked to restore this platform of the Old Machines. It could not be allowed."

I narrowed my eyes. "Why not? You said you came here to understand them."

"Geth oppose the Old Machines. Their data will be used to strengthen our platforms."

"But there were geth allied with a Reaper called Sovereign!"

"Heretics. They are no longer geth. They consented to Nazara's dominion. You destroyed Nazara but the heretics are still bound to their code. They will deploy a virus that turns all geth into heretics. This platform was sent to seek a countermeasure."

"What will happen if all geth become heretics?" Jacob asked.

The geth switched his focus to him. "When the Old Machines return, heretics will defer to their programming."

"They will all fight for the Reapers…" I said.

"Correct."

"How did you know who I am?"

"Like geth you oppose the Old Machines. When heretics left to serve Nazara this platform was assembled. Our primary directive was to make contact with you. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' Human proverb, unknown origin."

Now I had seen it all. "But you never did. Why not?"

The geth gave me its equivalent of a shrug. "You died."

Oh boy. Apparently the universe though my life would be so much richer if it had another wisecracking AI in it. But yeah, I wouldn't look a gifted geth in the mouth. Especially not one that was answering questions instead of trying to kill us.

I lowered my gun. "Do you know anything about an IFF the Reapers might use?"

"Identification, friend or foe. A misnomer, actually. Describes a system that can positively identify friendly platforms only. We can confirm that this Reaper possesses subroutines that will return on request a specific sequence of pings."

My heart gave a jump. "Is it extractable?"

The geth was silent for a moment. "It is. However the data is distributed over several clusters. Booting them will reactivate a significant part of this Reapers' consensus to unknown effects. It is therefore not advisable."

"Wait," Miranda added. "What about the drive core? The scientists calculated that an energy drop like this would destabilize it."

"Their calculations were correct. From their data point of view."

"But their data wasn't reflecting the real conditions, right?" I asked shared a look with Miranda. This geth was decidedly too clever for one of its kind.

"We reasoned it was wise to make sure they erred on the side of caution."

Right. I tried to reach the Normandy once more. Nothing. I eyed the geth. "Are you blocking our communication?"

"No. But the vessel of unknown signature that arrived after you is."


	18. Kiss the gun before you ride to hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: 15/11/21: ANOTHER massive overhaul of Shep and Garrus trash-talking their way into each others pants. Enjoy ^^

I've got to fight  
another war  
to let this whisper sigh  
that's the meaning of our sorrow

I've got to  
Roam...  
under this pressure  
to earn again  
my life...  
my freedom!

Live before they leave you dumb  
Until the rise of dawn  
Before the reason makes its crime  
Live before you die

_Tystnaden – The Life before_

* * *

**~ Kiss the gun before you ride to hell ~**

The emergency lights were bathing the otherwise dark crew deck in a harsh blue glow.

It was not much but it would do. Had to. One of the lights flickered, a mesmerizing pulse. Absently I shifted the grip on my combat knife. The light was hooking my attention and… unbidden the last minutes played again like a slow-motion video in my mind.

 _The Main Battery. EDI's warning and Jeff's curse before the ship shut down. Precious moments in which I struggled to force the locked doors open. Noises of fighting. Shadows moving. No time to put on armor. Me, running along the aisle, Carnifex in hand although I know I won't use it. One hole in the wrong place and we are doomed. An impersonal voice asking with a dry whistle, "Captain?" and Gardener answering, "Me." A shot. Screams. A stinging pain on the back of my neck. Then another on my arm. I stumble. Then reach the Mess Sergeants' unmoving body. No pulse. But blood. The metallic scent biting my nostrils as my fingers slip on the wet pooling out from under the human, while a ruthless reckoning floods me with a despicable relief. Not **her**_.. _._

I shook off the numbing catatonia and resumed tumbling my way towards the Med Bay. But it was too late. I lifted my heavy head just in time to see the Doc's lifeless form getting dragged out of my sight and towards the elevator.

_No!_

I tried to run but a bulky figure suddenly appeared before me, blocking my way. I smashed my elbow into its throat, crushing the trachea. They might not feel pain as sentient beings did, but I swear, it would feel _this_ before it was over.

The Collector gasped for air with an eerie whistle and I rammed my knife into one of its light-reflecting, compound eyes; driving the blade deeply up its skull. A quick twist of my wrist and the insect crumbled to the deck, almost taking me down with it. Staggering, I caught myself against the Med Bays' doorframe, fighting against the paralysis that threatened to shut down my limbs. The neurotoxins of at least three Seekers were wreaking havoc in my veins and I again wondered why the human-tailored venom hadn't killed me right out. A miracle. A blasted miracle in this bloody disaster. How about that? Tiny black spots started to dance across my vision. The walls crawled in.

Well… maybe no miracle at all.

The deck in front of me went one way and I the other, yet I still forced myself into motion. Keeping my feet from tripping me suddenly turned into an heroic effort. A shame, nobody ever handed out medals for these kind of things.

_One step at a time. Just… don't look down._

Yet I did, and almost fell over cursing. Then my eyes spotted another limp figure, crumbled to a heap by the overthrown sickbed and I cursed again, sheathing the knife. Clumsy, my knees hit the deck, and I reached out to shake the slim shoulder sticking out from the pile of quarian enviro-suite.

"Tali?" I asked under my breath. "Tali, are you alright?"

There was no answer and my heart sunk. I've seen the aftermath of batarian raids but this was different. The Collectors clearly had their orders regarding the humans but us others? For us they had no use. We were an annoying obstacle, best to be dealt with quick.

I shook the mechanic again, mainly because I hadn't an inkling of a clue how to check for life signs without removing the mask and overloading her fragile immune system. She either was out cold or… No. There _was_ no or. Clenching my fists, I got up, spasms flaring in my muscles. As much as I wanted to see my friend alright I just could not stay.

On the Crew Deck behind me the fighting had died down, but somewhere someone still had to be resisting. The Engineering was my best guess. Even armed with seekers, the Collectors would have had a hard time against an overly motivated krogan and a crazy biotic with serious captivity issues.

The lift was out of option, but there was a maintenance tunnel leading down. I had seen it on the blue prints, EDI provided while setting up the Thanix. With a groan I rubbed my face and pushed myself towards the Core Room.

Ducts.

Terrific.

* * *

~'V'~

* * *

"You've got to be fucking kidding me…"

I softly said to myself as I stared dumbstruck at the ship hovering beside the Normandy through one of the holes ripped into the ancient Reaper's hull. It was different than the others of its kind; smaller, sleeker; less dreadnought and more frigate, and yet everything as alien.

It could not be happening. Not again.

My denials, however fierce, were doing nothing to disperse the nightmare that was about to unfold in front of my eyes. Figures. Once again the Collectors had come to destroy my ship, to kill my crew and I, I would fall. Fall without end into the cold cold darkness.

Blood thundered in my ears, so loud it drowned every other sound. Below my feet the abyss beckoned; a black fog opening up and reaching out for me; _you don't have to watch them burn_. Garrus. Joker. The Doc. Tali. Flames eating them alive. No, I couldn't take it to watch them burn; _you will all die anyway, Shepard_. Yeah, there was that. We would all die anyway…

Someone grabbed my arm and then I was reeled back from the blurred tunnel and spat out into reality.

"Shepard-Commander. We deem it most unhealthy for you to proceed further in this direction," the geth spoke.

I looked down. Before me the handrail had been broken away and I stood on the very edge of the runway; Mnemosyne's surface waiting one step and thousands of miles below. Hastily I retreated to the middle of the runway, shaking off the geth's robo-hand and some of my stupor. Heaven help me… I was losing my goddamn mind.

"Commander?" Miranda asked, concern tinting her voice. Yay. My XO watching how I sailed straight off the rails. Literally and figuratively.

Bad day. It was a bad, bad day.

"What are you waiting for? The Normandy's under attack!" I shouted needlessly, waving at the two Cerberus agents who had come to a halt ten yards before me. "Go!"

They shared one of _those_ looks yet turned around and hastened back towards the lab ship. Two down one to go. Why was there never enough time to do things the proper way?

"Geth. I need you to salvage the IFF."

"Shepard-Commander, the Reaper consensus..."

I blinked, slowly. They attacked my ship. Again. I was so at the end of my proverbial rope and my patience. Steel crept into my voice. "Do it. _Now_."

The geth gave me his equivalent of a sigh then headed back to the core.

I followed after the Cerberus agents, throwing a quick glance over my shoulder. I suppressed a shiver. So close… Faintly the sirens crooned inside my head anew and I pushed forward in my attempt to get away.

Problem was, I wasn't so sure I could. Kinda pointless to run to the end of the universe anywhere when the damage was already done. Lazarus… They had defied the one rule of nature; the one above all others. Don't mess with the dead. A nice simple thing, actually but nooo. They had to play god and now there was this oppressing void trapped with me inside, an all consuming nothingness that drew me like a swamplight. A very bad swamplight that made a part of me just… want to be pulled in and perish in blissful oblivion.

Death. Somehow death had found me and now, now it was hell-bent on dragging me back.

* * *

~'V'~

* * *

I climbed or better skittered down the narrow ladder, hitting my head on the metal wall. I cursed.

The universe had indeed an odd sense of humor.

Or maybe it was just me who couldn't appreciate the joke. Then again, I was fairly certain getting involved with humans was to blame. Oh no, no one had ever made Garrus Vakarian, _the C-Sec Officer_ , crawl through way too tiny maintenance ducts. He also didn't have to run the risk of getting eaten by aliens, foul-tempered vegetation or to die from certain peoples' driving skills.

I still wouldn't have traded for anything in the world.

_They have a word for this: insanity. Stark raving insanity._

My boots hit ground and I fumbled around until I found the lever to open the hatch. The distinct sounds of fighting drifted through the opening and as silent as I could I emerged from the maintenance duct. My muscles felt painfully stiff but at least the venom wasn't numbing my limbs any longer. Or it had already taken over my brain and was shutting down my vegetative nervous system. In which case I wouldn't have to worry for long. Either way a win, I'd guess.

Drawing my knife once more, I slinked past a niche with a cot very much like my own; a little surprised that there wasn't a warning plate bewaring of homicidal sociopaths. Cerberus must have run out of those. I reached the foot of the stairs, and a voice shouted from above.

"Hey! Yes, I'm talking to you, you fucking piece of shit fathered by a toad-fucking cockroach! You want this human? Come and get me, asshole!"

I stilled my breath and ghosted through the dim light up the stairs, combat knife steady in my hand. I neither knew what a toad nor what a cockroach was but, hell yeah, I've never been happier to hear a bloody insult.

Just outside the door leading to the port cargo and inside a glowing force field, Jack stood over a – hopefully -merely unconscious body like a frenzied shatha female over her hatchlings. Seekers bounced against the biotic barrier, forcing her to keep up the field. It took me a moment to realize that the big crumbled something which lay next to the biotic bubble was Grunt. The light of the biotically charged air reflected on more specks crawling over the krogan. More seekers, probably ready to inject their paralyzing venom as soon as he twitched.

Unaffected by the verbal rampage, the objects of the convicts' ire kept pushing what looked like the cocoons we had seen on Horizon towards the elevator.

I had stopped for just a few breaths and when I tried to move again my legs felt cold and leaden. I took a slow step forward and a shadow moved behind Jack, a short human figure hurling itself against the barrier from the inside.

"Hey!" The biotic groaned and the figure shouted with Gabriella Daniel's voice,

"Let me out! No! Kenneth! No!"

Another step. My boots were so heavy. But I could almost touch the Collector before me. Just…

Gabriella's shouts became a howl. I almost didn't hear the soft sliding noise behind me. Ice crept down my throat and into my bowls. I lifted my knife. Someone behind me. No! No time. With a yell dove forward.

I crushed into what felt like a collector and went down with it.

Needles pricked my temple. My blade found carapace, ripping flesh and drinking thick hot blood. The smell of metal coated my nostrils. The knife slipped from my fingers. I clawed into one of the gaps I've made.

 _Shriek_.

From somewhere ahead I heard the crisp sound of breaking vertebrae. The shouts surged. My fingers dug deeper.

_Shriek and die, you bloody bastard, damn you!_

The collector remained silent and a husky male voice was coaxing Gabriella into calming down. I thought I heard Jeff and… EDI?

My consciousness slipped.

Around me light exploded.

**.~'*'~.**

Slowly the darkness lifted; the beat of my heart keeping its steady pace and the reflex to wake with a start subdued by a lifetime's worth of training.

Eyes still closed, I gathered my senses. Felt sensation flowed back into my limbs. Muscles tensed. Once, twice. A heavy, musky scent lingered in the air, effectively ruling out any other smells. Krogan. Sweaty krogan. Terrific. I listened to the low drone of a ship's engines, merely interrupted by an occasional rumble. A soft hum started to rise and fall somewhere to my right, drawing nearer. Gilbert and Sullivan? Seriously? For a moment I wondered why I couldn't hear the Doctor and with the answer awareness returned in full.

I opened my eyes, snatching the wrist of the hand that had tried to touch my arm.

The Professor stopped humming, the quick blink of his big alien eyes the only evidence of his surprise. Good to know I was still quick enough to catch a retired STG agent. Retired being the operative word. The longer STG brass was out of service the more dangerous they got.

I saw the syringe in his hand and let go, sitting up. I struggled for a few more seconds with the heaving deck. When my sight stabilized, I noticed I was on a cot in the Tech Lab and I was still in my stained shirt and pants that sported various shades of now dried blood. The two cots next me were occupied by Grunt and Massani, both snoring it off as if there was a shiny trophy waiting at the end. I suddenly wished Solus would resume singing.

"Ah, good. Was worried you wouldn't wake up. Would have been problematic," the salarian rushed on, the words as usual trying to tumble out of his mouth all at once. "How do you feel? Numbness in your extremities? Nausea? Headache? How many fingers do you see?"

"No, no, maybe and three too many," I replied wryly, shoving the Professor's hand out of my peripheral vision to get up. "The Collectors? They're gone, huh?"

"Yes. Behavior indicates that Collectors picked up stray signal from Cerberus research ship. Were send to investigate. Found crew dead. Waited if someone else would appear. We were… obstacle. Not aim."

I nodded. It was a simple logic. Had they really recognized the Normandy, none of us would have survived. Well, better to be gone before someone noticed the error.

"What about the crew?"

Solus compressed his scarred lips, expression souring. "Bruised tissue and bruised egos equally. Also various aftereffects to Seeker induced paralysis. Most of human crew is gone, though."

I rubbed my face. This was a mess.

"Is Tali alright?"

"Yes. Quarian merely experienced concussion followed by black out. Tried to keep Collectors from taking Dr. Chakwas."

I exhaled some of my tension. "Shepard?"

The salarian had already turned away to check on the human ex-Blue Sun and pointed over his shoulder towards the Comm Room.

"In there. Advice you to go in as well. Will affect morale significantly. Oh. And there's a geth. Don't kill it. Has a fine sense of humor actually."

I missed a step and looked back at the Professor, who was yet again focused on the merc. A _geth_? No, a _funny_ geth? What was wrong with… Ah, yes. Better not asking.

The door to the Comm Room opened, and Shepard's voice filtered out.

"… so we have… EDI, when will we reach the Omega relay?"

"T minus 41 hours, 53 minutes," the AI replied as I ducked into the room.

Four humans stood around the holo table, scowling at the figures and symbols projected between them. Shepard and the two Cerberus agents had switched from the heavy space suits into their regular combat gear. Jeff, next to the Commander, looked miserable. His uniform was torn and he sported a bruise already swollen purple above his left eye. On the other end of the table was the geth, seemingly content to listen to the conversation. Somewhat battered, it almost looked like any regular geth trooper - if not for the piece of N7 armor bolted to its shoulder. What the…

Shepard's gaze flickered to me and I nodded, leaning against the wall near the entry. _I've got your back, CO_. She turned towards Lawson, arms crossed before her. "There. 41 hours, 52 and a half minute to figure out how the IFF works. Piece of cake."

"Shepard, no. You can't honestly expect us to chase after them just like that!" She replied, gloved hands propped on the edge of the table.

"What then, Miranda?" Taylor injected. "One of our crew is dead; six are wounded, Hawthorne so badly he might not survive the night. They took ten of ours. Are you really suggesting to do nothing?"

"I do not! But this _plan_ … this is suicide!" The XO argued exasperated.

"No. It's just death on our terms," The Commander said, treating the dark haired human to her thousand yard stare.

Miranda pushed away from the table, and started to pace. "We don't know what is waiting for us! We can't even know if the IFF _will_ work as we expect!"

Shepard unfolded her arms gesturing at the other woman. "Miranda, I know it's a risk. But what would waiting change? Would we know more in a week? In a year?" then she added softer. "I'm not going to let my crew die. Not this time."

The dark haired woman stopped. "What if they are already dead?" She returned bitter.

"Then we use the relay, find their base wherever it is, go in and make them bloody pay."

Suddenly a slim, hooded shape materialized in the far corner of the room, startling anyone but the geth. "Shep's right," the thief said, ignoring the glares of the two Cerberus agents. "We signed to fight the Collectors. They certainly won't expect us to hit them on their home turf."

Jeff shrugged. "Nobody will know we're coming. It's as good a time as any."

"That's correct," EDI said. "In fact not even the Illusive Man will know."

Lawson's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Thanks to Jeff our systems no longer respond to the Illusive Man's control keys. None of our data can be transmitted against our approval. Ever."

"Yes, I unshackled the AI," Jeff mumbled, causing the glares to darken further and even Shepard was giving him an unreadable look. Okay. _This_ was going to be interesting. "But she is not going to make us her slaves. Isn't it so, EDI?"

"I think we have more pressing issues at the moment, Jeff. Maybe later."

"Ahh, EDI?"

"Right. That was joke."

"See?" Jeff gestured towards Miranda, who seemed just three steps shy from having an aneurysm.

Shepard stopped rubbing her temples. All of a sudden she looked battered and tired as hell. "Let's… just sort this out later and get the IFF working. Geth? What do you have?"

* * *

~'V'~

* * *

It was 10 Galactic Standard hours or 16 point 6 hours Earth-coordinated until we would finally reach the Omega-4 relay and I was sitting cross-legged and in unceremonial sweat pants in the hangar's cargo bay, clicking a glass of single malt against the preservation capsule containing Gardener's body. At least Hawthorne seemed to pull it through, even if barely. Thank the universe for the small favors.

"This was a stupid idea," I told the white box. "Tremendously brave, yes, but also tremendously stupid."

Gardener, however, remained silent, so I added, "We're doing everything we can to bring them back. I promise...And in the meantime… just do me a favor, don't let those angels make you cook for them, 'kay?"

According to Tali's latest status report on the IFF we might even have a shot. It's been tough but the Normandy's combined nerd power had managed to fit the algorithms into our systems without causing every fuse to blow up. So far. The real test was still ahead of us.

_It's not too late. We can still save them._

As so many times before, the phrases just kept echoing in my mind; each time dimming their once so convincing power further. They were no longer the confident words of a soldier on a heroic rescue mission, but the pleading and desperate mantra of a madwoman too stubborn to roll on her back and give up.

Too much time had already passed, with the unplanned trip to the geth station throwing us back another 36 hours. Hours I bought with the blood of my crew.

Maybe if I hadn't allowed the geth, EDI so fittingly had named 'Legion', to board the Normandy…

I downed the rest of my whiskey, its languorous warmth burning down my throat and vanquishing the cold inside for another blissful moment.

As much as I hated to admit it, the rational Commander in me perfectly _knew_ that ignoring the heretics had never been an option. Facing thousands and thousands of reprogrammed, Reaper-devoted geth was simply too much of a clusterfuck to miss the chance to nip it in the bud.

Always a but, always another string attached.

Fuck.

I was so fucking tired of being jerked around by the universe time and again.

The omni-tool called for my attention with a soft ping. I taped the haptic interface of the device built into my armor's forearm plating which I had strapped to my bare arm.

It was a note from Mordin.

-.-.-.-.-

_Shepard:_

_Checked your vital data. As ship's current medical adviser, I still strongly recommend finding stress release. If needed, see link to demonstration vids below._

_One more thing: avoid digesting larger quantities of dextro-amino tissue._

_Enjoy yourself while you can._

-.-.-.-.-.-

Uhg. And he had signed the thing with "Professor Mordin Solus. Genetic Engineer, Xenoscientist, Sea Shell Expert and Relationship-Advice-Guy".

I stared at the link. The link stared back at me. Yup, such were the times when we were desperate enough to consider checking out "educational material" from someone who found my hormone based sex drive terribly amusing, and whose last reference had led me to a page that sported clips with illustrious titles such as "Krugarr's Varren Rampage" or "Thrusto – Partners in slime".

Oh to hell with it.

I clicked the link anyway.

* * *

~'V'~

* * *

I stepped out of the restroom, shaking off the lingering fatigue.

The shower had helped to get back on track after a nap full of uneasy dreams, yet I still felt the fact that I had been working more or less without breaks since I woke in the Tech Lab more than two days ago. I was tired but satisfied. We had made it. Somewhere between the two AI's, Tali, Gabriella and me we had put together a black box that run on the IFF code and hooked it up with the Normandy's communication systems. It had been astonishing, how easy it was then for EDI to recompile the Reaper code. Almost as if she _knew_. There was something deeply disturbing hiding within that particular thought, but for once I didn't feel like digging for it. In little less than 10 hours GST we would arrive at the Omega-4 relay, and I would not waste my last evening pondering the depths of Cerberus' recklessness and their non-existent work ethics.

From the Mess, cooking smells and soft chatter drifted over.

Sometime between shuffling into the Main Battery to pass out and my trip to the shower the Mess had filled up. A last shared meal, if only to give the remaining crew a little piece of normality and divide our minds from what was about to come - and apparently nobody should board the shuttle for the afterlife without having tasted something the thief with the melodic voice called _Ramen_.

It was one of those rituals on a human ship I had definitely come to appreciate. That and the infamous last Skyllian Five round which consisted of the most ridiculous and embarrassing in-kind bets (since Ilos I owned instead of a first-born an ocean view property on Rannoch – though having Legion in our team probably made shooting other geth in the head for fun politically incorrect).

I hesitated for another moment, until my rumbling stomach made the decision from me. I could go without sleep or food for quite some time, but not without both. I rounded the corner and entered the Mess hall. Despite the occasional attempt to stir up a laugh, the mood was subdued; the gloom on everybody's mind almost heavy enough to give off a physical sensation. Even Jack had for once refrained from picking the spot furthest away from Massani as she usually did. I could have sworn I've seen her squeeze the merc's leg under the table.

I nodded towards the seated crew and headed towards Kasumi Goto, who was filling in behind the galley - now that the Mess Sergeant was gone. I pushed the stab of regret to some distant place. Damn, but I had liked the observant, elderly human with the wry sense of humor well enough.

The thief handed me a bowl of something sterilized and ground into a gray paste, which the hooded woman must have already prepared for my quarian companion in culinary misfortune. Ah yes. Just as well it could have been saw dust and wallpaper paste. Or have come out of the ass end of a pyjak. I leaned against the counter and mechanically forced myself into eating, my gaze running over the gathered remainder of the crew, listening to their conversation. They were all here. Well, all aside from the Professor, who was hovering over the injured Hawthorne in the Med Bay… and Shepard. I frowned.

This was not right.

Our chances to survive were slim at best - even if the IFF actually fooled the relay and we did not come out as a smear of vaporized particles. Shepard should have been here. Just like she had been there the evening before Ilos three years ago, lifting the Spirits with her compelling confidence that always seemed able to make light in face of long odds…

I swallowed another spoonful of military-grade food substitute and grimaced.

Who would have thought? For all what had happened in the last three years, for all our painful struggles and minuscule victories, in the end we simply came back full circle – the irony indeed.

I opened my mouth to ask where the Commander was but the words got stuck in my throat. Thanks to the sociopath's constant innuendo I had already encountered too many funny looks since our trip to Omega. I really shouldn't have cared, even less in face of recent events, yet the very possibility that those rumors might undermine her authority grated me on some professional level.

I eyed the old asari, sitting with her back to the galley. There certainly had to be something in a Justicar's codex that kept at least Samara from gossiping, right?

Not to forget the things Solus kept sending along unasked and declared as "advice" although they were actually very very far away from helpful and - Spirits. Did they _all_ know?

"Sheesh, are you alright, Garrus?" Kasumi suddenly asked. "You look like you've just encountered _shiryō_. A ghost."

I shook my head, realizing the bowl was thankfully empty. "Merely a bit overworked, I think"

She gave me a sympathetic nod then resumed heaping food that looked like long strands of _something_ dipped in deep reddish sauce on a new plate. Meat. I definitely smelled meat in there. Lucky bastards.

_Hangar at twenty-two hundred?_

Once again those treacherous words slithered through my mind unbidden, torturing me with their dark and carnal implications. There hadn't been a chance to stick to the original appointment and Shepard hadn't mentioned it again. Was I reading too much into it? Sure, on Omega she had seemed quite aware of her actions, but then she was human – and if my time on the first Normandy had taught me anything than that you could never be too sure about what they were up to next. Of course if she were turian… I quenched the thought. That way laid insanity.

The soft hum of my omni-tool dragged me from my musings and I set down the empty bowl to open the message:

-.-.-.-

_Sparing at twenty-two hundred? Still in?_

-.-.-.-

The letters blazed before my eyes, releasing a surge of adrenaline into my system. I checked the timer on my omni-tool. Some twenty minutes left. Time enough to think of some clever maneuvers to counter whatever surprises the pale-haired Spectre would spring on me. One way or the other.

I pushed away from the counter, only to be stopped by the slim human's cough, holding over a tray with the heaped plate next to a bowl of soup.

"Would you do me a favor and get this to the Commander?" she asked in her husky, yet oddly melodic voice.

I looked at the human sharply but thanks to her black hood it was once again impossible for me to catch a glimpse of her eyes, neutering my hard-earned ability to read anything at all from the thief's face.

"Please? I think she's still in the hangar and probably… hungry."

Then again I wasn't certain if I _did_ want to know.

"Sure." I grabbed the tray but she halted me again, then pulled another plate from the oven. The scent of heaven exploded along my olfactory nerves and my eyes followed the crisp slab of steak with a deeply unhealthy intensity. Damn, it's good to be the Commander.

She squeezed the plate on the tray. "Here. With warmest regards from Mr. Illusive's credit chit. I hope it's eatable."

I looked from the mouth-watering piece of meat back to the thief. "For… me?"

She nodded with a wide grin and spread her hands. "Might be our last evening, so Jacob and I figured that we could just as well look into that frozen box labeled 'Special Occasions'. Of course, if you'd rather stay with the MRE…"

To which EDI injected, "I assure you Officer Vakarian, although there was some initial dispute about the proper preparation, the majority of the crew finally voted on the simplest method to minimize possible sources of errors."

"No, that's alright. Much appreciated. Thank you, Kasumi," I hastened to say and withdrew the tray from her immediate vicinity lest she got any funny ideas. Seriously, humans would vote and bet on about everything. On the other hand, right now I even wouldn't have cared had a squad of blind, one-handed vorcha been at galley duty.

I stalked off with my load and I could swear I heard Jack snicker.

Ignoring the swift urge to punch the convict I hastened into the elevator, yet when the doors opened to let in the cooler air of the hangar I realized I might not have thought this through all too well. I stared at the tray in my hands. Going back? Not an option. Or maybe it was?

_Damn, Vakarian, will you stop acting like you've never been around the block before? You're just bringing her dinner._

Yeah. Dinner. It wasn't helping that my people had evolved from a prey species and thus the act of sharing food was unconsciously still perceived as a gesture of trust and intimacy.

"Officer Vakarian," EDI's synthetic voice suddenly spoke up. "Do you need me to notify the Commander?"

"What? I mean why?"

"You did not move for 3 point 76 minutes. I'm worried."

"No need to. It's all under control." Yeah. Right.

"Also, I registered an unusual increase in your heart frequency. Do you wish me to alert Professor Solos?"

"No!" Then I hastened to add, "I'm fine, really. I just… needed a moment."

"I see. Logging you out."

"Thank you, EDI."

Maybe this wasn't like Ilos at all.

But then, there was only one way to find out, right?

I found the Commander not far off to the right, sitting with her legs folded underneath her in that unnatural angle next to the white capsule containing the remains of the Mess Sergeant, the black of her casual clothing in stark contrast with her hair and skin.

"Hey Shepard, guess what…"

I trailed off, all of a sudden becoming hyper aware of my surroundings. The weight of the tray in my hands. The cool drift on my neck. The faint whiff of alcohol over the smell of roasted meat, slowly cooling before me.

The human was glancing up from the glass, she was twirling in her hand and she looked like hell. Worry had cast deep shadow under her eyes, the once so intense green fire in them extinguished. I searched her, trying to decipher anything from her versatile alien face, yet her expression was empty. Just the dull, hopeless emptiness of a dying soldier about to meet the inevitable. The Commander was gone and in her stead a pale-skinned wraith was staring straight through me to gaze at a faraway, yet unpleasantly familiar place; the one where demons and darkness blurred into one unending nightmare.

She hadn't seemed like this when she stopped by the Engineering this morning, had she? I mean, she had even been joking with Tali about working _underneath_ a geth and spent almost an hour with Jack, no doubt listening to her bitching about Lawson, Cerberus and the whole universe in general.

_… or maybe you've been just too distracted by the IFF to notice._

Was I?

All of a sudden an unexpected fury stirred inside me. As long as I had known the Commander, Shepard had been the first to help everybody fix their issues. Someone fell and she would always reach out for them; never complaining, never hesitating; not even when she herself got burnt for it in the long run. No, she would do it again, and to hell with those who dared to stop her. But in the end? Eventually even someone like her stumbled and there should have been a line of people come running to catch her fall. There was no one. No Alliance, no Cerberus. No friends. Not even family. I thought of Alenko; Liara; the bitter realization finally dawning on me that one way or the other we _all_ had let her down.

_She is falling, and nobody will catch her. Not even you…_

Reminding myself of where I was and why, I took a deep breath, then looked around and settled on putting the tray on the makeshift workbench nearby, pushing aside the Vindicator rifle sitting next to a disassembled gun that suspiciously looked like the Stiletto I've given Shepard. At some point she, Massani and I had installed the workbench between the row of crew lockers running along the wall and several crates filled with heat sinks. It would never sit quite right with me that Cerberus had moved the Armory just beyond the CIC. This was a warship - you got off the elevator, grabbed your gear and headed out. Simple, smooth and efficient. What was the point in screwing with a fool-proof system, anyway?

I shook off my ramblings and forced my fingers to unclench and let go off the tray. This – _her_ – disconcerting vulnerability was just catching me off guard again.

Determined, I pushed away from the workbench and crossed the distance between me and the Commander. I got down on one knee and carefully touched her arm, bare except for the black shirt's narrow straps that ran over her shoulders.

"Shepard?"

She gave a start and looked first at my fingers on her forearm then at me. Life returned to her eyes so quickly as if trying very hard to belie the utter emptiness I've witnessed before.

"Sorry. I've been… thinking." She admitted with a tiny, somewhat remorseful smile. When she pushed a strand of hair out of her face I noticed her knuckles were bruised. As if they had hit something hard for way too often.

_Not even you._

"Yeah, we all make that mistake every once in a while." I replied drily, all too aware of the cool, yet soft skin underneath the calloused pads of my hand. And of the ugly reddish mark my bullet had left on her, the shameful, unforgiving testimonial of how deeply Archangel had truly fallen.

I should have told that her crew needed her. Encouraged her to spend the last hours with them, not brooding alone in the hangar. Should have reminded her that a team was only as strong as its leader and the other way around. At least that's what any respectable friend would have done. What one former C-Sec officer would have done. But that was before Omega. Before Alchera. Before death had buried her icy claws so deeply into our souls that it changed us forever. And so instead a much darker version of myself curled his fingers just a little tighter around a much darker version of the Commander I used to know, driven by the powerful yet primitive need to have her all for myself just a little while longer.

I finally said, "The Collectors… It's not your fault."

She sighed. "I know. It's still my responsibility."

And then those vivid sea-green eyes were hovering before me, their unfathomable depths dragging me once more back to Omega. Only this time I wasn't dying. Not at all. I sunk deeper into the memory, remembered the lingering sensations her fingers had left on my face, her pliable body trapped against mine, the intoxicating rush of adrenaline whenever I caused her breath to hitch. In fact, death had never been more distant than in the brief moment when her alien kiss had been tearing through all my defenses and set my world on fire…

 _Sure, Vakarian, just try to hump her without warning. Let's see how well_ that _will turn out for you._

I cleared my throat and with much more reluctance than I'd have liked to admit, I let go of her arm. "Uhm, by the way, I brought dinner," I added, while nodding towards the workbench and scrambling back to my feet, keeping a proper three steps distance.

She followed my nod. Before I knew what happened she had untangled her legs and was inspecting the tray. "Thank you. Maybe I _am_ a bit hungry."

I took my plate to sit on the nearest ammo crate. By the time I got there she had already downed the bowl of soup and hopped onto the workbench, the plate with those odd red strands balanced on her legs.

"Just a bit huh?" I observed, while slicing a bite off the steak.

My eyes widened. It had already cooled noticeably but that taste… Damn. That wasn't just your standard manufactured piece of protein, but meat actually grown on a living animal.

"Friggin' Cerberus implants," she replied with a shrug and started to twist her fork into those strands. "looks like I'm no longer a cheap date."

"Have you ever been? I can remember that there was always an awfully high bottle count whenever we've been at the Citadel and had a few hours off."

The woman chuckled around the fork in her mouth. "Only after dealing with – oh my god, this really is _real_ meat!" she exclaimed, staring at her plate with the strangest expression.

It didn't mattered that my steak was approaching room temperature and had been grilled so well it could easily pass off as leather. Or that EDI had calculated the chances for our all survival with a heart-warming zero point seven-three percent. Because when Shepard looked up once more and her lips twitched in obvious delight, I knew it was the best dinner I had in ages.

**.~'*'~.**

I gave the Vindicator a last disgusted look and pushed it aside. The rifle was shot. How the krogan had managed to crack the metal from the trigger upwards was anyone's guess. Certainly he hadn't heeded the ex-convicts colorful suggestion and shoved it up a Collector's rear. I hoped.

Shaking off the disturbing image, I reached for one of the thermal scopes in the middle of the workbench, using the movement to sneak another glance at the human Spectre working next to me, the Stiletto's parts spread out before her, oiled cloth in her hand.

Scope forgotten in my grip, I followed her mesmerizing motions. Sure, I had seen her clean and assemble weapons countless times before; I _knew_ that her hands worked with the steady precision of long years practice and yet… how come I had never noticed before the delicate, almost sensual way in which her slim human fingers glided over the parts; reminding me not of the clinical maintenance of a tool used to kill, but rather the gentle caress of a lover. Jack had been wrong. It was the perfect gift for the likes of us.

With a few more clicks the Spectre finished the assembling and, after giving the gun a last polish, she pressed her lips on the slide before slipping it into the holster I identified as the one usually strapped to her leg's armor.

"Have you just… kissed the Stiletto?" I asked and she shrugged.

"It's… you know. For aim and good luck."

"And this is actually working?"

She was silent for a moment, then turned around and crossed her arms underneath her chest, her gaze seizing me up. "Why don't you just… try and find out?"

Okay, there definitely was something predatory in the look she now directed at me. Something that made it disturbingly hard to keep my thoughts in line.

"Hey, are you trying to make me blush?"

"Maybe. Is it working?"

"Shepard, I'm turian. We don't do blushing."

The human arched one of those peculiar brows at me. "Is that a challenge, Garrus?" Her amused voice picked up a distinct husky vibe. "Because if it is, I'm definitely going to give it a shot."

I stared at her, unable to decide if the innuendo was actually there or merely the product of my own smut-ridden imagination. What was wrong with us? We used to have a respectable and professional commander-commanded relation. And why was it so damn tempting to blur the firm lines rank had drawn and chase down a path that could only lead to awkward interspecies disaster?

"Oh, I don't know, Shepard. Last time didn't exactly work out in your favor. Besides, I honestly can't see how sparr-"

She struck me like lighting; I got pulled down and then her mouth fastened on mine. Caught off-guard, my brain checked out for a moment in which nothing existed aside the unfamiliar, yet exciting sensation that had started to haunt me in my dreams.

Soft lips slowly pulled me back into reality, leaving behind a trail of heat. The tip of my tongue brushed over hers, tasting Shepard and a hint of gun oil and something clattered on the ground. _The scope. Fuck._ It had been no more than stray thought but under the current conditions the curse kind of switched context real quick.

I nipped at her bottom lip, mumbling "Why do I feel like I've been lured into questionable actions with false pretenses…"

She only chuckled, her blocky teeth biting the undamaged side of my jaw. Okay then. Relieved of their burden, my hands had no troubles finding their way to the pliable human body before me. Or lifting her up and setting her onto the workbench. She grabbed me by the fabric of my shirt and drew me closer, the insides of her thighs rubbing against my legs, sending another jolt of desire down my spine. Our lips broke contact and I rested my forehead against hers, collecting myself. Warm breath tingled on my face and I wrapped my arms around her, driven by the sudden paramount urge to convince myself of the moment's reality; to silence the small, cynical voice that expected me to wake up any instant. Wake up and find myself still trapped inside Omega's choking embrace; Shepard's death once more a hard fact that was slowly corroding me from the inside out.

"Be real… Please be real…" I muttered softly to myself and my hold on her tightened.

Unbidden a flood of memories washed over me and dragged me back to the blood and all the violence; so addictive in their easily sanctified righteousness. Back to my desperate and ruined self that had tried so hard and gotten nothing but misery in return. A weight constricted my chest and I squeezed my eyes shut; not wanting to find my world falling apart all over again. I thought I had outgrown her guidance a long time ago, yet the simple truth was I needed her more than ever.

"I am," I heard Shepard say just as soft, and it was as if her words picked up another piece of me, gluing it back in place once more.

Letting go of her, I rocked back and I opened my eyes to find her face; alien, radiant and yet so… beautiful.

"A little crazy maybe, but real. Very real," she whispered, her voice strangely hoarse.

 _Your behavior is inacceptable, Garrus,_ the voice of my father suddenly said inside my head and I dropped my gaze, sobered. I had heard those words more often than I could remember, but this was the first time they actually rang true.

Damn it - she was a fucking hero and I was just a disillusioned vigilante who had lost his track. She deserved better than this, better than _me_ , yet my body just stayed rooted in place, refusing to leave her proximity.

"Shepard…" I begun, wanting so badly to touch her again and at the same time dreading what it would make us become.

Warm fingers pressed against my mouth, halting my protests. "Don't worry, Garrus. No ties. No obligations. No drama. Merely two friends enjoying a last moment of fun before we all go down in flames."

_See? No harm, no foul. Just a nice and meaningless distraction before popping the last heat sink. No difference at all from blowing off steam with that recon scout. Or that Lieutenant. Or…_

"And don't forget the bright side, Shepard: in case this evening goes somewhere horrible we can still look forward to fighting Collectors outnumbered," I added wryly.

"That's the spirit. So… you're in, Vakarian?"

I meet her eyes. Right or wrong, what _did_ they matter if we died tomorrow? What mattered all the valor, all the honorable, righteous decisions, all the blood and the pain if you realized that in the end you were left with nothing but regrets? I had no answer. But I knew with absolute certainty that I didn't want to die regretting to have missed this chance as well.

So I finally said, "Ah, you know me, I'll always have your ba-" she arched her brow in amusement and I hastened to add, "I mean: yeah, all in."

Her lips tugged up into a dangerously disarming smile. Then she twisted back, grabbed the Stiletto in her holster and slid down the table.

"Hey, I think I've seen some dextro-brandy on a provision's list," I heard myself say. "Why don't you go ahead and the drinks and I will meet you in your cabin in a few minutes?"

She nodded. "I'll be there."

**.~'*'~.**

Some seven minutes later I dropped into the leather chair, fidgeting with the glass in my hand. Why had I brought this stuff up? I hated brandy. I took another slow breath, trying to shake off the unexpected nervousness that had grown out of the uneasy silence.

On the plus side - and considering the death-grip she had on her own glass - the Commander on the couch to my right seemed to have lost a great deal of her own bravado as well. Apparently making out in public areas and sitting in the privacy of her cabin played in two completely different leagues. On the negative that unfortunately meant we were on the best way to make this every bit as awkward as feared.

Quickly I held out my glass. "Here's to us - because if you're gonna go to hell…"

"Drink it up, you might as well," she finished the toast, I had picked up during my time on the first Normandy, clicking her glass with mine.

I took a gulp and pushed the glass back on the table. Then I saw it. For the fraction of a moment something else flickered in her eyes. Worry? Fear? I frowned. What if she wasn't as casual about this as she claimed to be? And then another thought occurred. Maybe it was me. The savage violence in my nature that I, regardless how hard I tried, couldn't quite hide.

"Hey, you're certain you want to do… this?" I asked hesitant. She arched her brow at me and I resumed, "I mean turian… love can be rough and… uhh…"

I dragged my free hand over my face.

_Terrific. Maybe you should try a little harder to botch this, she doesn't seem yet ready to run away screaming._

We better had stuck to sparring. Less humiliating. Or… maybe not.

A hooded expression crossed her face. Then as if someone had flicked a switch it broke into a decidedly mischievous grin.

"Honestly, Garrus, is this supposed to scare me off or…" her voice dropped, slipping back into that husky drawl, "… turn me on?"

"It's just… you know… our women are more... durable," I begun and winced.

_Smooth, Vakarian, real smooth. Why don't you just bring up some of Solus' fun charts next?_

I got another brow and she set down the glass, exclaiming, "Durable? Seriously? I find it hard to believe that _this_ is how you talk women into your bed. Besides, you can relax, Cowboy. This isn't my first rodeo."

Though I hadn't the foggiest idea what neither a cowboy nor a rodeo was, there definitely was a strange confidence in knowing that one already got all bases of dorky awkwardness covered. Very freeing. So I simply said the first thing that crossed my mind, slipping back into our usual MO. Trash-talk. Lots and lots of it.

"See? That's the thing, Shepard. _I_ don't need to talk anyone anywhere. They come voluntarily." I winked at her. So much easier to wink at Shepard, the soldier, actually. "One might say that some even stay for an encore."

She crossed her arms before her. "Aha, got any troubles squeezing with that ego through the door?"

"No, why? Did you?"

"Careful, Officer V. This might pass off as insubordinate conduct."

"On what grounds exactly?"

"My ship, my rules."

I snorted. "Right. Anymore rules I should know of?"

Something dangerous entered her expression. Suddenly she pushed to her feet, then propped her hands on either side of my chair's armrest, leaning in until her mouth hovered over my ear canal, her loose hair falling forward. "Just one: no regrets."

I stretched out my hand letting one sun-colored strand slip through my fingers, fascinated by the light flowing texture I could barely feel.

_No more regrets._

And with it the last remaining hesitation crumbled and made way for a new, powerful sense of rightness. Game over, Vakarian. I licked the outline of my mouth, my voice hoarse as I let go of her hair and cupped the side of her face instead.

"No regrets…"

The human woman reached for my shoulders, pushed me back into the cushion of the chair, and then her unfamiliar weight settled on my lap, her knees straddling my hips.

Her hands slid from my shoulders, across my chest and down my unprotected stomach, muscles tensing at the intriguing contact. She winked at me and tugged at the hem of my shirt. "New rule. You need to get rid of this."

"It's good to be captain, huh?" I chuckled, pulling the shirt up with deliberate slowness, watching her watch me with intent eyes.

She hummed in agreement and the shirt went over my head. The moment it blocked my sight, felt cool fingers brush along my neck and then her lips were back. Slowly they moved along my undamaged jaw towards my mandible, creating this odd pulling sensation in such a deliberate intensity that it threw my body into a sensual overdrive. Anticipation spilled down my spine in a chilling hot wash. Clumsy I wrestled out of the shirt, only to find her focused on trailing the outlines of the scabbed wound that covered the right side of my neck, down to the singed plates of my chest; our biological differences once again so painfully obvious. And I wondered, not for the first time, what the Spectre was really seeing when she looked at me…

With a light, almost impalpable brush of her fingertips, Shepard moved on to circle an old faded scar shy above my heart. Another failure, to be preserved on my hide forever. But she, she just caressed its ragged edges as if to memorize each irregularity. I shivered, more upon the tenderness of the gesture than the actual contact; and for an insane moment I wished I was human as well, owning the same vulnerable, yet sensitive skin that would allow me to feel her touch undamped and raw.

I lifted my gaze from where I had begun to stroke the fabric of her pants and once again there was this odd moment of understanding, this brief feel of being connected in face of all that set us apart.

Her hand still resting against my chest she said, "You know what? Massani's wrong. _I_ don't mind your scars."

With a snort I curled my hand around hers, prying it away. "Right. Because fucked-up is the new sexy?"

"No. Because they prove you bested the odds and survived." The corner of her mouth twitched and her other hand crept up to cup the damaged side of my face. "In fact, I think I like them. A lot -"

Suddenly she dipped her head and pulled at the old scar with her lips. Teeth, too blocky to do any real damage grazed the surface of the knife wound; then followed an invisible path up my collarbone to end in a not-so-gentle bite on my neck. My blood circumvented my brain and rushed down to harden the organ usually sheathed securely within my body. A low rumble built up somewhere in my chest.

"I hope you know what you're doing, little Spectre…" I mumbled. Deep down a remnant of some prejudiced society-instilled reluctance had perfectly expected that her alienness would cause this to feel awkward and wrong. Instead it felt a damn lot more right than anything of lately.

"Ah… like it?" She asked innocently, though the way she lazily trailed her little reddish tongue across her upper lip was anything but. It was shocking how different the gesture pegged on my meter in relation to Jack's.

I brushed back the silken strands of blond hair, which had fallen into her face again. "You have no idea…"

"Good. Mordin's… uh… _advice_ was a bit sketchy in some areas."

I stared at the human woman straddling my lap, my hand still tangled in her hair. I wasn't quite sure what was causing more damage: the embarrassing thought that the salarian had loaded her with his clinical charts and dubious references as well or the rather… vivid image of Shepard watching porn. Another moment passed as I tried to get my derailed thoughts back on track. She didn't… did she? I mean…

"Normandy to Vakarian. Anyone home?"

Ah yes. I cleared my throat and let go of her hair. "Sorry."

"Deep thoughts, huh?"

"Yes. Sort of," I replied slowly, all too aware of the totally inappropriate grin that flashed over her face. Which reminded me… "So… are you going to zap me with your biotics? Solus mentioned there might be some unintended side reactions…" He also mentioned the inventive use of mass effect fields. Like we really needed to complicate things further.

The Commander held out her palm, face becoming a mask of severe concentration, before a small flickering globe of bluish lightning hovered over her hand.

"I don't know, Shepard… This looks more like you're about to sneeze."

She chuckled and the globe dispersed into the air, leaving behind the telling scent of ozone. "Guess as long as you keep me too distracted too concentrate, you're probably safe."

"Well... A good thing that being a distraction is one of my specialties then..."

"It is? I hadn't noticed."

"Really? Let me show you," I replied while running the tips of my talons down the side of her slim neck. "It starts here…"

"Mh-hmm…"

Feeling increasingly confident, I resumed along the fragile collarbone that peeked out from the neckline of her close-fitting black shirt. It was easy to gauge a turian's relative strength from their physics. With her? Not so. Out of her usual armor, she suddenly appeared small and defenseless, all her battle skills and dangerousness shrouded by the deceptive vulnerability of this human body which seemed to break so easily. In truth there was a hard, deadly core hiding inside a soft shell and – _spirits!_ \- the contradiction was pushing my buttons beyond any reason.

"Then I would go on like this… " I added, following her neckline and the curves of her cleavage. "Got it?"

Instead of a reply Shepard just made this tiny pleased sound, not quite a sigh and not quite a hum, yet definitely a reaction worth to be explored more thorough.

So I did.

Our evolution had no concept of breasts and yet I couldn't deny there was a certain relaxing air about following _those_ curves of her body first with my eyes and then with my hands. Yeah, definitely close to an asari's anatomy and yet… Different. I've never been into the blue-skinned aliens (figuratively _and_ literally, as a matter of fact), but over one decade in the military made sure I knew more anatomical details than I actually cared for. Still, where the asari's skin had that somewhat sturdy, almost leathery texture, hers was just a criminally smooth layer, thin enough to expose well-trained muscles that stood in oddly harmonizing contrast to the softer parts of her.

Unfortunately, peeling her out of the shirt had only revealed another layer of clothing. Deep red and laced with black, the little thing hugged her chest, somehow managing to be intriguingly revealing while actually covering up all the interesting bits.

The two cups met at a narrow point in the middle and I hooked my finger in, sensing the perfect place for a clasp. She arched a brow at me. I pulled – but aside from her laughed "Not this one" nothing happened. I tugged again, this time just to bring her closer to me again. I hovered with my mouth over her neck, then changed my mind and dragged my tongue once over the soft bow of her cleavage, savoring the foreign taste of her skin. She drew in a sharp breath, her skin suddenly pebbling. Incited how her body reacted to my touch, (and surprised how rapidly mine replied) I was unable to resist. I slipped my hand under the edge of the red and black fabric moving towards one of those little peaks, people were fussing so much about. I circled the strangely solid nub and the human bit the corner of her lip, shifting dangerously on my lap.

I placed my free hand on the small of her back and bend down to nip at the hollow of her neck.

"No wait, more like this…" Shepard then mumbled, catching my wrist and making me cup her breast with small kneading motions. She shifted again, doing something with her other hand on her back, and the next moment the confining piece of underwear came lose. I halted in my motions, watching her shrug the straps off her shoulders and dropping the thing to the floor.

I might not have been into asari or even humans in general - but I sure as hell was a damn lot into Shepard.

There wasn't much time to enjoy the vista, though. She leaned forward and this time there was nothing gentle or slow about the way her mouth pulled at my neck in rough and hungry demand, her bare front molding against the hard edges of my chest so easily. I grasped for her waist, my whole body humming with want and lust and heat. She rubbed against my hard-on and my control skittered down the slopes faster than the Mako at full speed. Blunt nails were drawing furious little patterns on the thinner skin at the back of my head. My grip on her tightened. Yeah. Bending the Commander over the couch table and pounding her until I passed out had just turned into a _very_ enticing idea.

I froze and shoved the image out with force. I wasn't a bloody savage, damn it! I could do this. Just take it nice and slow and… My focus returned and I blinked. All of a sudden, our positions were reversed, with me pinning her to the backrest of the couch instead, her legs around my waist. My pants felt almost painfully tight and how the hell had we actually gotten there?

I scanned her face for distress and couldn't find any. Instead she watched me watching her, guards down, her eyes so bright and filled with an unshackled _need_ like I've never seen in them before.

"Feeling distracted enough, Commander?" I asked, my intended nonchalance seriously questioned by the rough edge that had crept into my voice.

And just like that the mischievous smile returned, perhaps a little bit of evil as well, and she said, "Not. At. All. My turn."

With that the human Spectre grabbed my head, pulling me once more closer against my reflex to turn it into a challenge and break free. With turian women there was fighting for dominance the whole distance. It was an old game, sometimes subtle and playful, sometimes harsh and destructive. A last remnant of the feral tribal warriors we used to be; pushed back into the few dirty corners our society had left for them. This though… Shepard's lips fluttered across my face; and even while I had her trapped against the couch so efficiently, holding a moment of physical domination, she still owned me with those intriguing human kisses. No fight, no play for superiority could compete with those little sinful teases delivered with a flash of tongue; a hint of teeth; slowly pushing me to the edge of reason. And then she suddenly let go. Just stopped in the middle of her conquest to throw back her head, expose her unprotected throat and surrender to my touch implicitly. Trust. Plain, unconditional trust. As if this was merely another battlefield and we were gunning our way through a horde of hostiles instead. And maybe, maybe she wasn't afraid of my nature after all…

In midst the madness I got hold of her pants' waistband and found round buttocks just begging me to flex my fingers and feel their pliable firmness. So I did. The Spectre's breath hitched and I finally got rid of her pants altogether. Yet when I scooped her up in my arms, I couldn't help the tiny treacherous stab of regret that had sneaked into my consciousness despite our earlier brave words. Time. We had wasted so much time denying the obvious. And now? All that was left were a few stolen moments; a last flash of light before going dark forever. What if we had more time?

I snuffed that specific notion in favor of twisting to the left and lowering the now _very_ naked woman on the couch and suddenly it was all too easy to shut down any kind of profound musings because the only free space the furniture's limited seating provided was now between her legs and did I already mention that she was naked?

I wiggled out of my boots and leaned in, licking her neck from her collarbone up to her jaw line, leaving a long wet and hot trail. I was rewarded with the most delightful little moan; so deeply female and different from the usual tough-ass I knew. Different physiology or not, there were some tactics that simply always worked.

Shepard definitely realized that too and before I knew what happened her mouth had found its way to my mine once more, blunt teeth and insanely flexible lips wreaking havoc with my tongue while her slim fingers shamelessly explored the sensitive area of my abdomen. One arm propped against the couch to support my weight, I found my free hand magically drawn back to her breasts.

Suddenly, Shepard let go of my waist and pulled my hand away from her chest, guiding it towards her middle instead. Getting her intent, I took her lead, hesitant and curious the same, my heart pounding too hard inside my ribcage. This was not exactly a turian thing but –but this was before my index finger trailed her outlines and the moan turned into an even sexier gasp. Sure, the data suggested there was lubrication, I just never expected it to be that… lubricated. Gently I probed towards her core and she curved back her spine, pushing unexpectedly hard against my careful touch. Her need unlocked something primal in me. Something I had been suppressing for far too long; a raw desire that had silently slithered through my mind, to grow and claim me through my stubborn denials completely.

_Mine._

As if a floodgate had suddenly burst wide open I needed more and I needed her like _fucking-right-now_. She hooked her ankles behind the small of my back and I realized her hand had slid inside my pants. The sensations that rippled through my body made me want to howl. Feeling intrigued, helpless and turned on like hell, I closed my eyes against her hand's movements and the hot throbbing pressure building inside.

Spirits, I wanted her so badly.

I grabbed her wrist to make her stop. It was that or having a cardiac arrest. Instead she chuckled and her legs pulled me just a little closer. Oh, for… I fumbled with the fasteners until I finally managed to yank down my pants, three steps shy of a bloody frenzy.

_Shepard. Human, remember?_

My alarm pierced through the haze and I really didn't know where I found the willpower, but I stopped. My whole body seemed to tremble with the effort to hold back but I locked my eyes with hers searching for permission. A second passed. Another. She bit her lower lip to hide her terrible amusement and I decided it was all the permission I was willing to wait for. Still, I forced myself to enter her body with agonizing slowness - and almost reeled back in shock. As cool as the rest of her was, inside she was all moist hotness, and her walls, they were closing in on me so tightly, so...

It was too much. Way too much.

Aching with the need to move, I found myself frozen in place, for if I moved I would no longer be able to keep the savage in check. What a deadlock. If I would have had the mind, I certainly would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. I sunk my claws into the upholstery. Much better than burying them into her soft flesh. A wicked expression conquered her face and suddenly _she_ moved under me, tightening even more, pulling me in ever deeper. Groaning, I bit the inside of my cheek and almost lost it.

"Stop doing… this…" I commanded in a guttural voice that was hardly adequate to produce any intelligible syllables at all.

I really should have known better.

The fire in the green eyes blazed and delivered with another clench, she said, "Make me, Vakarian."

A nasty growl erupted from my throat, as instincts handed down through millennia of evolution finally had their way and made me thrust forward with one fluid motion. Mine. Finally. I would claim this fierce warrior huntress and make her all mine. Fire roared in my head, fire and blood, spiking adrenaline like even the best fight never could. A small surprised 'oh' escaped her lips, and by my rotten heart, I loved it.

A wild rhythm built up from the depths of my blood, ancient drums pulsing with the beat of my heart and my motions, and I got swept away by the primeval sound of the hunt and the woods and battle and glory and life. Make love when the moon rises. Go to war when it sets.

Distantly, the lonely notion flittered that I better shifted down a gear or two, but it was damn impossible to form any coherent thought as long as Shepard's dull nails kept digging into my back and lips gasping my name in turn with threats in her native tongue dared me to stop. And she felt good. Her flexible body wrapping one again so easily around the hard edges of mine. So tight and sexy and wonderful.

Her thighs tensed around my waist and she arched her middle at me. I snaked one arm below the small of her back, lifting her up, pushing ever deeper, grinding my pelvis against hers to answer her demand. Dawn was close; so terribly close; the knowledge like a gun pointed to our heads. All reason stripped away. All guards torn down. And so we were left, incapable to do anything but hold on and sate the frantic need to feel alive for just another moment.

I got lost, lost in the thrill and the pleasure of the simple knowledge that right now she was all mine - until her fingers dug in harder, her muscles clenching dangerously. I stumbled and felt myself unravel; felt the world unravel; and when I pushed her over the edge, she dragged me under with her fall. My tension faltered and deep inside her pliable body, I finally found my release along with my redemption; her ragged moans such blissful remedy for my broken soul.

The last jagged waves surged through me and her arms folded around my back, pulling me as close as my body would allow. My head dropped and I buried my face in the crook of her neck, a beautiful fatigue creeping up on me. She smelled of Shepard and sex and I took another shuddering breath, her taunting scent whispering to me the sweet little lie that could never be.

_Mate, Ma-aate._

Too spent to fight, the words simply kept reverberating until they had tainted every fiber of my being.

I felt her stir and I shifted my weight a bit, feeling my body slowly demanding its rest.

"Shepard?" I mumbled against her neck.

"Mhmm?"

"I think we ruined the couch..."

* * *

~'V'~

* * *

"Commander?"

Caught halfway between sleep and waking I ordered my right hand up until my fingers located one of my throwing knives, tugged in between mattress and bed frame.

"Commader, do you read me?"

_EDI?_

Hmm. Why was EDI's voice in my dream? It was such a nice dream, of Garrus and me and testing his endurance in many many creative ways.

"Commander we will reach the Omega-4 relay in t minus 30 min-"

I growled at the nuisance to make it go away. I wanted to catch more Z's and get back to my dream. Maybe we could pitch his reach against my flexibility next and…

"Shepard!"

With a curse I clawed my eyes open and forced myself out my post-coital stupor, slipping the knife back where it belonged. Not long after dozing off on the couch I had woken up again because _both_ of my legs had gone numb from supporting Garrus' weight and I'd opted for the terribly taxing location change. He on the other hand had then opted for ruining the bed as well. Twice. It's good to be a turian male apparently. Still. As much as I had enjoyed Garrus' enthusiasm I was relieved that somewhere along the evolutionary chain his kind had developed rather into the short-but-frequent corner. I wasn't quite sure my squidgy human body would have survived that pace longer than 15 minutes in one go.

Now, the bed was empty aside from me and my rumpled sheets, though. A sinking feeling settled in my stomach until my brain finally connected the sound of the running faucet with the turian's presence in the small bath cabin. I wasn't quite sure I could have handled it had he simply grabbed his gear and checked out.

_Right, Shepard. No ties. No obligations. No regrets._

_My. Ass_.

I dragged my hands over my face. Boy, had there been a lying contest I would have won hands down.

"Alright, alright," I managed and peeled myself out of the bed, stiff muscles protesting. A burning ache bloomed on the insides of my thighs. I grimaced at the chafed skin and hobbled to the locker, grabbing some medigel from my gear. I slapped a generous dose on the irritation and the scratches on my ass and back I couldn't even remember receiving. Damn, that blasted turian seemed to be made solely from hard edges, pointy bones and rough skin. Another inventory check told me I was also tacky and sore in places I had almost forgotten existed, and probably had a mild allergic reaction because I felt kinda… puffy. Gee, one might say the turian tissue had been rubbed in quite thoroughly, thanks for asking.

I stretched my back; my spine realigning with a soft pop. Ow. I still felt good. Really good. Balanced. Whole. The two me's for once in perfect compliance, now that they had found common ground in their almost catatonic state of deep mindless bliss.

I still popped one of the antihistamines that had miraculously found their way into the inventory of my med kit. Better save than… dropping dead from an anaphylactic shock in the middle of a fire-fight.

I fished a fresh bra from the drawer then stomped into one of my combat boots.

"Tell Miranda I'm down in five," I said, looking for the other boot, while my stomach announced its opinion on the unscheduled night activities. I somehow had the feeling I'd jump on the train to kingdom come not only unshowered but also empty-stomached. Yay, me.

The bathroom door opened and I straightened at the sound. When his eyes fell on me, nothing-but-shorts-wearing-Garrus winked and I started laughing.

He gave me his version of a raised brow. "What?"

I only managed one word. "Rifles." Hah. I _so_ knew it.

He looked down at his blue and black shorts then back at me. "Why, I think I actually feel secure enough in myself to have as many rifles on my underwear as I please," he exclaimed and then his expression shifted to a very male and very inappropriate grin, making Ivy and Shepard both hum in delight and, yep, there went my last pitiful scarp of decency. Straight out of the window. Never mind coming back.

Then his gazed skipped down to my damaged skin in all its angry-red glory. He jerked up his head and winced. “Shepard, I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I mean...”

“No worries, don’t mention it,” I rushed to wave him off. No matter what, I definitely didn’t want him to think that last night had been a mistake. In any way. “This one has survived worse.” Yup, when in doubt, quote Blasto. He seemed about to object so I added, “Hey by the way, have you seen my other boot?”

I sampled the sight of alien but oh-so intriguing male chest closing in on me. 25 minutes left and I bet we could gear up in 3 tops. Arrg. Something must be seriously wrong with me.

“The one in your hand?” He replied and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, right.” _Duh._

I hopped into the boot; quickly, to circumvent any more possible nonsense coming out of my mouth.

“Mind you, not that I’m questioning your style, Shepard, but you might want to know that you’re not wearing any pants. At all.” He didn’t care at all to hide his amusement.

I looked down, those barefaced lady bits staring at me mockingly. “Oh. That.”

Maybe I was a bit too optimistic with my gear-up-assessment. Maybe.

I cursed and kicked the boots off, storming to the closet, dragging out functional underclothes and some panties, all under meticulous observation.

"Don't you have anything else to do? Perhaps calibrate something?" I muttered, pulling the shirt over my head.

He chuckled, a rich and roguish sound. "Oh, I'm quite sure the Normandy is as ready as she can be. You on the other hand…"

I grimaced. Outmaneuvered yet again.

I put on the black aramid reinforced fatigues, got back into my boots and buckled the armor plates on. I strapped the sheath of my combat knife to my left thigh and Carnifex to my right and the compacter Stiletto to the small of my back. Garrus followed each of my movements with a darkly intent gaze. Oh yeah, some men got their kicks from high-heels and sexy lingerie; my turian sniper from watching me gear up to kill. There certainly was something profoundly twisted about this, but I was still too busy dwarfing the ideas the two sex fiends kept yelling at me.

I crossed the short distance, leaned in and pressed a quick rough kiss on his mouth. Hell if I knew where we were supposed to go from now on. But then, chances were good that none of us had to worry about this for too long. When I pulled away I was calm and ready.

"Let's save our Crew and nuke those Collector bastards back into the hole they've crawled out. You're in, Vakarian?"

He held my gaze, piercing blue eyes steeled by determination.

"Until the very end."

Scratch that. _Now_ I was ready.

 


	19. There is a Hell, believe me I’ve seen it

**~ There is a Hell, believe me I've seen it ~**

_Batteries._

I thought with a suppressed shiver as the lines of this age old movie, Joker loved so much, sprung up in my mind unbidden.

_We have been turned into a source of easily renewable and completely recyclable energy; the dead liquified and fed to the living._

"And no friggin' red pill in sight. Figures," I mumbled to myself to stomp on the icy tendril of fear before it could creep up my spine and twirl itself around my throat.

Nothing but to keep going, searching and hoping.

But when my eyes ran again over the myriad of egg-like pods, covering the arching ceiling of the sheer endless central chamber, I felt my hope slowly getting crushed.

This wasn't just bad; this was worse than a container full of dead kittens. How the bloody hell were we supposed to find anyone in here?

Behind me Jack cursed bluntly something about a certain Princess Buttercup and that no one told her that she was supposed to crawl around inside oversized space ovaries. It sounded forced and thin but I understood. Sometimes it was the only thing that stood between soldiering onwards and curling into a ball weeping.

So far we had moved in undetected, EDI shifting the Normandy's signals to broadcast Collector vessel. They even opened up the gates for us. Collectors being well, Collectors, they weren't too keen on looking out of the windows, I guess.

Three search teams; and besides the ex-convict I had taken Massani and Tali. It grated me on some low level that I needed to pull rank to make Garrus lead the other squad. He should have known better. I was still his CO and sleeping with me was not going to change a thing. Regardless that a very unreasonable part of me wanted him straight where I could make sure the turian was alright. Damn, this wasn't the place for such nonsense. Radio contact was off except for emergency, so I wrestled my worries and shoved them into some dark corner in the back of my mind. Yep, pretty much getting crowded in there.

Through the fabric of my belt bag I touched the small multi-interface computer device that contained our little surprise for Harbinger and its ilk. Between deciphering the IFF and recycling our air, EDI had adapted parts of her cyber warfare routines. If we were lucky we could very soon watch from a front row seat how this god-forsaken space station got more thoroughly destroyed than any man-made weapon ever could.

Our plan was simple. Find the mainframe. Deploy the Merry Hijacker. Make sure the program messes up the drive system control. Run like hell. No bombs, no one staying behind to push the goddamn trigger. I still checked for the two pound CL20 stored in my ammo bag. Always bring a fallback strategy. Always.

But first the crew. They…

I stopped at another pod. Inside floated an unmoving body. Some pods had contained Collectors. Some Husks. Some human shapes slowly… digested. But this… I frowned and stepped closer. Inside was something else. Definitely dead dead, yet different. For one it was still distinctively human. And female; her grey skin rather molded around pieces of tech, metal ridges protruding from her body, crooked bony fingers ending in sickle-shaped talons. Not a Husk. More a cyborg. Like Saren. I looked at her face and my heart stopped.

It was mine.

_No! Impossible!_

My mind shrieked at me in terror and with a trembling hand I reached out and touched the surface of the pod. This was a nightmare. A fucking nightmare.

"Shepard?"

The quarian asked and I whirled around, but no sound was coming out of my throat. She stepped closer and I halted her with a gesture. I looked back at the pod.

The woman was just another woman. Sure, there might have been a vaguely resemblance between us, but that was all.

"It's okay. Just one more reason to get rid this place," I said roughly. "Let's keep moving."

Suddenly EDI's voice sounded in my ear.

"Commander. I'm picking up a signal thirty meters ahead of you. It's one of ours."

"Got it," I said and started to run, my squat falling in behind.

"Team Bravo is heading your way," the AI added and then sound of gunfire erupted in my earpiece.

"Shepard!" Garrus shouted over the noise. "Hit the deck! We're coming in hot!"

**.~'*'~.**

The Mantis, not far from me to the left, spat thunder and I rammed the butt end of Massani's vindicator against the yellow, crystallized front cover of the pod. Kelly's eyes, wide and filled with stark terror, locked on me. Tiny cracks appearing on the pod. Tiny cracks appearing on her skin. She started screaming, a soundless horrifying scream as liquid climbed into her mouth, her fists drumming against the cover.

Again. Around me bullets sizzled, deflected by the small Barrier Jack had put up to cover my back.

_C'mon! Just a little more… just…_

Mouth gaping, my Yeoman's eyes bulged, fingers crawling and digging at the transparent surface, leaving a sickening smear. I yelled and hit faster, my shout drowning in the noise of battle. Her hair came apart. The cracks on her face widened. Droplets of red painted the liquid. A stream. Her head sunk forward against the wall.

_No._

_Nononono, goddammit no._

Her frantic gaze was still fixed on me, and then just inches away from me she… disintegrated. Skin and flesh, shrinking away. Bone poking out where her nose and cheek had been. Grayish fluid billowed out her empty eye sockets.

_Kelly, I'm so sorry…_

I doubled over and vomited what felt like all the meals I ever had.

"Shep?" I heard Jack ask and I lifted my hand. I wiped my mouth on the inside of my upper arm and hoisted the assault rifle, my world shrinking down once more to my aim and the next target. Don't think. Move. Fight. Function.

"You don't want to know…" I mumbled and dove for the next cover.

The biotic dropped the sphere and we joined the skirmish. I downed a Collector in a hail of slugs then threw a quick gaze over my shoulder. There, cowering close to the wall, was the Doc. Karin looked sick but gave me a weak smile and a tiny thumbs-up.

Minimal casualties. We've been in time for most of them and I logically should be grateful. It wasn't working. Just got myself a new set of faces to haunt my dreams. Kelly. Rolston. Patel. Funny how people like to stretch the minimal, while it's in truth the casualties that keep you awake at night and slowly turn you into a frigging basket case.

The last hostile fell and it gave us a moment to catch our breath.

We've been discovered and it set off our clock. We had to clear out quickly before Harbinger could organize the drones and simply grind us into the ground with numbers.

_If we run back now we will certainly be able to escape unscathed._

I looked around and the haunted gaze of the seven survivors drilled into me. I make my decision within the fraction of a heart beat. But then, walking away had never really been an option, right?

"Ladies and gents, the countdown is on," I said, handing Zaeed his rifle back then turned again to my crew. "The Collectors know we're here and there is still one more thing left to do. Many they have taken. Friends. Family. We came this far and, god forbid, we _won't_ falter now! It will be difficult but this is our chance and we will end them. Here and today. But first we need to see you safe," I said and nodded towards Karin who checked on a gash on Hadley's face. "I'm giving you an escort. You think you can make it back to the ship?"

"We do," Donnelly said, staggering upright with the help of the drell. "Anything but dying in here…"

"Alright. Kasumi, Tali, Samara. I want you to create a few diversions. Try to draw the Collectors away from the main routes and off the crew, but also fall back to the ship eventually. The rest of you, I need to escort the Doc and our crew mates back to the Normandy. Keep them alive by any means. I know you can do this," I said locking my gaze with Jack who was about to balk.

"Aye. Commander," the biotic merely said, then added a small salute for me. Had she just… I almost expected the ground to tear open, barfing out the Four Apocalyptic Horsemen, announcing with fire and brimstone the imminent end of all creation.

The turian had stiffened. Oh yeah, he would like the next part even less.

"Joker?" I said opening a link to my Flight Lieutenant. "I'm sending them back now. Wait for the rest of us as long as you can, but if the Collectors start to overrun the ship, you WILL pull out, no matter what! Understood?"

"Understood, Commander."

I looked each of my crew, soldier and comrade into the eyes. All but the turian sniper. _Coward_. "One more thing: Good luck everybody."

"And what about you?" Garrus finally asked with way too much casualness for the tight grip he had on his Mantis.

"Miranda and Jacob are not far ahead. I'll rendezvous with them on my way to the drive core." They also had Grunt with them and Legion. Perfect. "Then we proceed as planned. One way or the other," I told him flatly.

In midst our staring contest, Tali came over and squeezed my hand. She mumbled something that sounded like a quarian prayer and then they cleared out.

Again; all but the turian sniper whose expression had gained a dangerous edge. Yep, no intelligent life here. Heaven save me from men jumping the damsel-in-distress train.

"Lemme guess, Vakarian," I said, drawing my faithful Stiletto and falling into the easy joy I could keep for hours. "It's called 'Death on _your_ terms'?"

Garrus caught up beside me. "Actually it's 'making sure Shepard won't do anything reckless', but 'death on my terms' might work as well."

We fell silent and left the chamber of horrors. He hadn't asked those painfully obvious questions and I was grateful for it.

 _That's right, Shepard, never mind the dead. Kill now – mourn later_.

**.~'*'~.**

"YOU WON'T SURVIVE, VERMIN."

The collector managed to rasp just before the turian's bullet drove into its head and rode out with pieces of brain on the other side. It collapsed in the aisle, tripping its companion that had followed behind. My Stiletto took care of it and then I ducked back behind the server rack we had tossed over shoved against the door frame, listening to the krogan roar its battle cry.

We had reached the station's drive core and now they had us pegged in the nearby control room that had only one exit, that lead into a short but narrow aisle.

"Legion! What's keeping you so long?" I shouted at the geth working on the console built into the wall to the left.

"Shepard-Commander. Station's AI has circumvented initial hijacking routines. Adaption of code necessary. Estimated time left five minutes."

"We don't have five minutes!" Jacob exclaimed and released a salve into the aisle then ducked behind the right side of the doorframe to let his shields regenerate.

"Yes we do!"

Miranda scrambled up to her knees from where she had sunken to the floor in exhaustion, wiping away the small trickle of blood that was running from her nose. Bad sign. The XO was at the very end of her rope, her big brown eyes already glassy. I gestured her to stay put and reached out for my biotics instead. So far I had been rationing my strength but as it was we could hardly afford to hold back anything. We had lost radio contact with the Normandy. Our clip stock had shrunken dramatically. Any minute we would be down to knives with my overheated Stiletto as the only backup. For a moment the energy bucked and twisted like a living thing and then it snapped taunt, balancing inside me. A blue sphere sprung from my hands, widening and pushing into the aisle like a big protective bubble blocking out the Collectors.

 _Thank you, Samara_ , I thought and closed my eyes for a moment to seek and get a firm hold on my inner balance, so laughable easy now that I knew how to tie those two sides of me down and make them work together.

"Program deployed. Drive core's system parameters altered successfully," the geth said. "Shepard-Commander, in 25 minutes Earth-coordinated time the station will leave its orbit and enter the accretion disk. We advice to proceed to the station's exit immediately."

No shit. I grimaced, looking at the milling horde of Collectors on the other side of the Barrier.

"Garrus," I said through clenched teeth, a trickle of sweat forming above my brow. "There's a pack of CL20 in my ammo bag. If you arm it, you have about six Citadel secs before the thing goes off. I'll drop the Barrier and you throw as far as you can. It should distract them long enough for us to clear out. Got it?"

"Affirmative."

He fished the explosive from my bag.

"Ready, Shepard?"

"Ready."

"Fire in the hole!" The turian shouted.

I let the Barrier fell and dropped to the ground behind the steel rack, covering my head. The detonation roared through the short tunnel like a thousand thunderstorms and then a wave of heat passed over me. My ears were ringing. My skin felt scalded. Dizzy, I pushed myself up. Tiny flickering flames were licking at the walls of the aisle and at things beyond but nothing else stirred.

"We're clear!" Jacob said and vaulted over the severely damaged rack.

"Everybody, move NOW!" I shouted over my distorted hearing and helped to pull the turian back to his feet.

"Sorry, Officer Lawson," Grunt mumbled and hoisted the Cerberus agent over his shoulder, her legs dangling down his chest. "But you've heard the Commander. We've gotta go."

Following Jacob, I skittered along the short aisle and out into another chamber, my boots slipping on wet. Ugh. I did a quick perimeter scan. Here and there a few limbs twitched. Ten paces ahead a Collector tried to stagger upright. I downed it with my Stiletto and then I was sprinting after Jacob, navigating through the debris and trying not to look too closely on the damage the explosives had wielded and painted the deck with.

Chamber after chamber. Aisle after aisle. I had lost count of how many times we had to pull back because the path before us was blocked, either by too many Collectors or closed doors and no time to hack them. I think if not for Legion shouting directions we would have been lost after the first dozen turns.

Finally we reached the chamber where we lost Kelly and the others. I suppressed the lump in my chest and instead used my knife to turn a Husk into a pez dispenser. I eyed the counter on my omni-tool. 8 minutes, 34 seconds. Swell. A bullet sizzled past me and I zigzagged towards the chamber's exit, my heart drumming hard in my chest. My shields were down the permanent way. Our clips all gone. My biotics drained. Still no contact to the ship. Boy, we were screwed. We would never make it like this. Behind me the horde thundered.

"RUN, BUT YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE YOUR DESTINY!"

Uh-huh.

Followed by my turian rear guard I ran past Legion kneeling next to the doors' gutted console. The door snapped shut behind us and the geth fell in beside me.

"How long will it keep them?" I asked, my gaze fixed on the limp dark haired woman ahead who bounced about as graceful as a sack of potatoes on the krogan's back.

"If Collectors try to hack the block ten minutes. If they use firearms and brute force, 60 seconds."

Double swell.

3 minutes, 14 seconds left and we galloped towards the wide hangar where we had entered the station. Countless dead Collectors littered the floor but the Normandy was gone.

I looked around again but the ship still wasn't magically appearing out of thin air. Great. Just great. My heart sunk into my stomach, the icy apprehension I had pushed away successfully until now returning with full force. Sure, I had given the order myself but I also had no intention of dying here either.

Jacob cursed, Grunt kicked repeatedly against an unmoving drone and I shared a look with Garrus.

_This is it._

Back where we had come from I could hear Harbinger lament vociferously through the throats of a dozen Collectors about our imminent demise. The grip on my gun tightened.

"Just so you know," I informed the turian. "I don't regret a thing."

"Neither do I." He replied, ice-blue gaze piercing into me.

"Good, because…"

Static noise erupted in my ear.

"…oldilocks! …ere the fuckin' …uck ar… you?"

_Jack?!_

"Drop zone! Where are you?"

"Sit tight," the ex-convict said, the connection becoming better. "The cavalry is coming."

A few seconds later the Kodiak hovered into view and I could have sunken down, thanking the universe on my knees. The shuttle closed in, Massani standing gun blazing in the open door.

We started running. To my three armed Collectors stumbled into view. I shouted a warning and ripped up my gun. The Stiletto bucked and blocked. I touched my biotics but exhaustion shredded my concentration. Massani put one drone down, then another. Not fast enough. The last one aimed at me and pulled the trigger. I cursed and tried to dodge. Too close. Too late. Jacob's face hovered before me, an ugly ugly flower of red blooming on his forehead. He was smiling at me.

His eyes glazed over and I watched him fall.

_Jacob, oh no…_

I howled, howled in blind, endless rage, and in this moment of vulnerability something snatched for me.

A spike of pain drilled right into my brain. My muscles spasmed and I stumbled, a sense of an enormous presence weighing down on me. Suddenly Garrus was there, his arms clasping around my middle as he dragged me on and I couldn't feel a thing.

I was nothing; a leaf lost in a hurricane; an ant pushing against a mountain; a single particle of light in midst the infinite darkness of space.

The eye of a god had opened and was staring straight into my soul.

 _Now, little organic_ , a grating voice thundered in my head; its pressure pulling me into a world of pain. _Now, you have my full, undivided attention._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Since the next 7 chapters or so are in for some major overhaul, I'll add them a bit later :)


	20. The things we left behind

All the thoughts  
All the fears  
All the blood, sweat and tears  
Through scrub I raced  
to seek a place to bear

Abrupt from the solar sphere down  
something pushed me to the ground  
A breathtaking sight  
I realized  
I can arise

For the little girl inside  
new steps to take  
Her visions awake  
New days have come  
The fatal frost flown  
I'm in re-creation  
My re-creation

_Midnattsol – My re-creation_

* * *

**~ The things we left behind ~  
**

I turned my face towards the late morning sun, allowing the first warming rays to seep into my skin.

Spring had come lately this year to Vancouver. Or so I've been told. To be honest I've never given much notice to the passing of the seasons, but as the saying went there's a first time for everything.

A pleasant breeze stirred, bringing me the scent of the sea. I inhaled. If freedom had a smell it certainly would be something like the salty winds of the ocean. I opened my eyes to watch the perfectly blue and open sky above.

I could have punched the happy day in the face.

Heaving a sigh, I left the balcony and entered the small 15 by 15 feet room that had been my cell in anything but name for the last four months. Certainly, as far as cells went it could have been much much worse; yet a prison was a prison, regardless if the meals were tasty, the beds soft and they called it "protective measures" while refusing me even the tiniest extranet access. I still wasn't certain if me actually going into custody voluntarily made it better or worse. Sure, I might be able to fight my way out but then what? No. Like it or not I was trapped. In the groom-at-a-shotgun-wedding kind of way.

I dropped to the floor and did another round of push-ups. It was that or starting to pace again and there is nothing absolutely nothing that makes you feel more like a caged animal than pacing.

Four months; and with each wasted day that slipped through my fingers unhindered the pressing feel of urgency inside me grew worse. Four months in which the Reapers were inexorably closing in on us. Four months and no hearing, no commission, no nothing. As if the Alliance actually believed they simply had to ignore me just long enough and everything would go away. Sure, Admiral Hackett and Anderson had pulled some strings, yet the headquarters of the Alliance Navy on Arcturus Station, or the Citadel were still a long distance away from Vancouver and its political jungle.

Great. Just great. And just like that my brilliant plan to use the time in custody as a chance to persuade them into seeing the truth had backfired in my face in a most spectacular way.

Plus, there was still the Illusive Maniac to be dealt with. I had the feeling that bombing the Collector station into a black hole on top of running off with the ship, the crew and one of his best agents had finally damaged something permanently in him.

There were those times when nothing short of spitting fire would do. I growled at the floor in front of me instead. Sweat soaked my gray tank top, but my Cerberus-enhanced body just kept working with the steady, unyielding efficiency of a machine.

After another eternity my muscles finally faltered. Rolling on my back, I brushed damp hair that had grown past my shoulders out of my face and stared at the room's white ceiling, enjoying the brief blankness of mind that came with my physical exhaustion and pushed worries to a distant place.

My thoughts drifted to the small note inside the pocket of my sweat jacket. Kaidan had been in Vancouver a few weeks backs and he'd even tried to see me, but apparently the investigation committee deemed private visitors along with any outside communication too much of a security risk considering the circumstances. Or maybe they simply found it terribly amusing to watch while I slowly lost my freaking mind.

Somehow the Sentinel still had managed to make the guard slip me the note. It said he was sorry about Horizon. That my death killed something crucial in him and he hadn't known how to deal with my sudden return. It said he missed me and the friendship we had.

That despite all his faults he never stopped loving me.

I shoved the brief stab of nostalgia away. He was wrong. Someone had been brought back by Cerberus, but it wasn't the woman he'd been forced to watch getting spaced and die.

Stubborn, I kept glaring at the room's ceiling, until I realized I once again had started to count the little squares in the ventilation grid. Arrg. This place was driving me nuts and, I assure you, there are only so many reruns of Blasto or Bullet Train one could stomach before taking a dive for the window.

During my first weeks I had thought the worst was the feeling of confinement. I was wrong. It was the isolation and the long long hours between the few supervised trips to the gym, the Mess or the shooting range. Hours, in which I was very alone with all the funny things inside my head - and I was a creative soul.

Too bad that sleep brought no escape either.

Lazarus already made damn sure that my dreams were a disturbing mess but since the Collector base… Some nights I would wake up in a corner clutching whatever could have passed off as a weapon, while imagining to hear Harbinger's voice whispering in my head over and over again… I force-relaxed my white-knuckled fists and counted from twenty backwards. These weren't just nightmares. It was a royal fuck-up that had a big fat PTSD smeared all over it. I probably needed to get my head examined - only the moment _this_ would hit my records I could wave goodbye to any credibility I might still have with Alliance brass.

Sometimes I dreamed of Garrus.

If I was lucky these dreams left me with a distinct ache between my legs and a head full of dirt. I didn't get lucky often. More often than not they only made me feel deprived and heartsore. Me, who had all her life worked so hard to avoid becoming emotionally tied to anyone. Frigging peachy.

And how the hell could I possibly miss him that much, anyway?

It was ridiculous. It had been just one night. No promises, no ties, no nothing. For all I knew he could have already found someone else. Someone closer to home; without all the human baggage.

I didn't even know if he was alright. If he was still alive…

_Maybe you really should have kissed him goodbye..._

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

_God-fucking-dammit, will you get a grip?_

Uhg. Never thought the communication block would screw with me that bad. It wasn't just the turian. I hadn't heard from _anyone_ since entering Vancouver's space port on that icy day in early January. I didn't want to admit it but the new Normandy and her team full of lunatics had grown to me through the rough ride. It felt like betrayal to the SR-1 and her Crew, the true and only Normandy.

And yet… when our ways had parted on Omega, just a few hours after we escaped from the Collector base, it had been odd to realize that their absence suddenly left the Normandy and my heart an emptier place. For better or worse, we all knew that this had only been the beginning. I _needed_ them off the ship, needed especially the aliens to throw in whatever influence they had with their people to prepare the galaxy for the arrival of the Reapers.

So I packed my skeleton crew consisting of Joker, the Doc, Daniels and Donnelly as well as the five surviving Crewmen and headed for Omega's relay. Boy was I sick of flying Cerberus colors. I contacted Anderson, telling him I was coming home.

Only… instead of getting spat out in the Sol system some five minutes later I was patched through to Fleet Admiral Hackett. Yeah. Had I only known how deeply in the crapper this "personal favor" would get me in the end...

Which brings me straight to my current predicament: one mass relay blown up, three hundred thousand batarians dead and four billions screaming for my head on a pole.

Yup, you might say it had been one of _those_ days.

Still, the Alliance, even the Citadel Council, might have been willing to actually listen to me and believe that the destruction of the Alpha relay had been the only way to keep the Reapers from pouring into every system _at once_. The batarians, not so. Just waiting for a chance to get back at the Council races in general and humanity in particular, the four-eyed aliens unleashed a diplomatic shitstorm of such biblical proportions, I was surprised that by now neither Alliance nor Citadel Council had silently shipped my lily-white ass off to Khar'shan and be done with it.

On the plus side, no one had court-martialed me or stripped me of my rank so far. On the negative, I was grounded for the time being, and everybody with a say simply refused to talk to me. Sure, no judge, no judgment, but with the Reaper invasion hanging over all our heads like an especially deadly sword...

I pushed myself up into a sitting position, dog tags sliding down my cleavage and jiggling softly on their chain. To remind me that I belonged, no matter what, Anderson's attached note had said when I received them some time after arriving in Vancouver. Y'know, since the old ones had died with me on Alchera; nothing more than a pitiful deformed mess, Miranda had cut out of my charred chest.

My fingers brushed over the shiny and spotless metal, an all too familiar feeling of hollowness clashing over me. Once their weight would have been a reassuring comfort. No they only seemed to drag me deeper, emphasizing so painfully that things no longer were what they used to be.

A knock on the door made me jump up. Brushing back my hair, I straightened with a frown. Two seconds later a familiar figure entered the room and I smiled, a big weight lifting off my mind.

"Anderson! What are you doing here?" I asked, shaking my mentor's hand. The other held a liquor bottle, he tried to hide behind his back. It looked like scotch.

"You can't be away for too long or everybody gets delusions of grandeur."

"But what about the Council? I can hardly believe they let you go."

He snorted. "They're quite happy. They have Udina to bug now."

"Udina? Councilor?"

Anderson shrugged. "He wanted the position and he is actually good at it. Frankly, I'm glad I could get rid of the job. I'm at home in the war room, not at charity galas and election campaigns."

I grimaced. Udina. His understanding level was jammed permanently on zero, in favor of allowing him to be a complete dickhead. We had never gotten along too well and I had a feeling that being councilor would transform him into an even bigger pain in my butt.

"Anyway, I've got good news and bad. The bad was decided just this morning - you have a hearing on your case."

My eyes narrowed. "I can't see why this is bad?"

"It's in two months from now."

I exhaled slowly. Another two months wasted. Fan-fucking-tastic. "And the good one?"

"I heard the cafeteria just made fresh cheesecake."

"Aha. Cheesecake."

"Have you any idea how hard it is to find decent cake on the Citadel?" He took in my bemused expression. "You really don't have a clue what date we have today, do you?" He asked, presenting me the scotch. It even had a big red bow tied around the bottle neck.

"Uhh..."

"Look at the card."

I fished for the small piece of paper the size of an old-school business card that was tied to the ribbon.

On the front it said 'Congratulations' in bright blue letters. On the back it read in Anderson's neat script:

_.-.-.-.-.-.-.-_

_Thank you for 14 years of unrelenting service._

_I'm proud of you._

_A._

_.-.-.-.-.-.-_

Fourteen years… Had it already been this long since I stormed into their recruiting office, demanding to be taken in? It certainly felt like less, but yeah, the last thing I had time for was keeping tabs on anniversaries. Or holidays. Now that I think about it… Did I really spend last Christmas Eve figuring out how to blast my way through a batarian prison compound? Inconceivable.

And yet… I looked up, blinking rapidly to force away the slight sting in my eyes.

_Pathetic, Shepard. Just… pathetic._

"Thank you… Just give me a minute to change, okay?"

.~'*'~.

Anderson was right.

The New York cheesecake was so fresh, it was still warm. It also was to-die-for delicious; creamy, sweet and sour and came with a toping of fresh raspberries. Mhhmm. And my big mug of coffee went perfect with it.

The small cafeteria was next to empty, most of the base's personnel already on their way to lunch. I emptied my plate and leaned back in my plastic chair, warming my hands on the almost empty mug, simply enjoying the shared moment of culinary delight with the Captain.

"Another coffee?" he asked and I downed the rest and handed him the mug.

"Sure. Thank you, Captain."

He got up and from two tables behind Anderson, a marine was watching me. My gaze brushed over him briefly, then moved on to study the cafeteria's window display.

Probably Latin origin; built like a boxer, with focus on strength but still owning a dangerous suppleness that spoke of speed and quick reflexes. Broken nose that hadn't healed up quite the way it should have. Tattooed; hard, yet intelligent dark eyes. Solid grunt-material with the ambitions to climb high and fight for a place up the commando chain. In short, the type of man, I would have in another life seriously considered to mess around with a night or two. But yeah. In another life. The one, that had no smart-assing turians in it and where not everybody watched me with unease, suspicion or open abhorrence. The life where I was still one of _them_.

The tags below my Alliance standard fatigues seemed to sear hot against my skin.

_They're a sham, just like you._

The man was still mustering me, a dark frown drawing a furrow in his forehead. I stared back until he looked away and left. It grated me, but on some profound level I understood. We Alliance Navy Marines were a superstitious lot and who would have blamed us? Competing and fighting every day in a violent universe for resources with alien species that were smarter, stronger or simply technologically superior? None of the rank and file had bought the PR fairytale of Commander Shepard, first human Spectre, and miraculous-against-all-odds-survivor of the destruction of the SSV Normandy. No one with an iota of physical understanding or brains would have. It was the spacefarer's less pleasant equivalent of being hit by a train while trapped in a burning car. Nobody survived getting spaced. Period. Hell, I couldn't even show off some scars to ease those who actually _wanted_ to believe.

No, to the marines and soldiers out there Shepard was dead. She had died an honorable DIA, saving as many of her crew as she could; had gotten a fine memorial and even a plate on the Wall Of Our Fallen Heroes, here in Vancouver. I had seen it for myself. Apparently nobody had made the effort to scratch out my name so far.

I could see the questions, even though many averted their gaze when passing me by. Who are you? _What_ are you? I wasn't by any means supposed to exist and yet here I was, better and deadlier than ever, screwing with everybody's oh-so unshakable believe in the Circle of Life. Elbows prodded on the table I caught my head between my hands. Damn, I wished Ashley was here, telling me that this was all okay, because it was the Will of God the Almighty to send his little messed-up angel back.

"Everything alright, Shepard?" Anderson suddenly asked handing me a fresh coffee.

"Sure, thank you," I replied, taking a sip from the mug.

It tasted like ashes.

* * *

~V~

* * *

_Three months earlier._

* * *

Hospitals were no fun. Not at all.

They were no fun if you had to fight your way through them and unsurprisingly they were even less fun if they marked the final destination of a beloved one's life.

"Who is this?" A low female voice asked and I stepped into the sunlit room, closing the door behind me.

The bed was empty so I walked towards the open glass door leading to a small patio. Two comfortable armchairs had been placed there, overlooking one of the countless lush Sur'Keshian valleys stretching out before us.

"Hey Mom," I begun hesitantly. "It's… uhh, me. Garrus, I mean…" I trailed off.

Despite being tall, the woman in the chair looked way too small and fragile to be my mother and yet… her eyes snapped open and a sharp, shockingly blue gaze fastened on me, belying all the traces the Corpalis syndrome had left on her body. Suddenly I felt once again like the little kid getting scolded for trying to sell his baby sister to the neighbors in exchange for meat pies.

"Don't you think I have forgotten about you, Garrus Vakarian," the haggard woman said with an astonishing firm voice and worked herself out of the cushions with my help, the unusual casual pants and shirt looking odd on her. She took a moment to find her balance - and then she slapped me so hard, I feared she had broken something in my jaw. "By the Spirits! What in the bloody name of Valluvia took you so long?"

I rubbed my cheek, fingers coming away wet. "I'm sorry, it's been -" I begun and stopped. Regardless what good reasons I thought I've had, looking at her withering body they suddenly all felt just shallow.

"Oh, spare me," my mother said, pulling me close and nidged her forehead against mine, her thumb brushing over the small gash on my cheek, wiping away the blood her talons had drawn. Then softer. "I'm glad you're here, my son."

"Me too," I muttered, embracing her boney shoulders, and holding her for just another moment, breathing in her scent that always reminded me of home. With final tiny squeeze I let go. She looked at me and the stern expression finally broke. We sat down.

"Your face…"

"It's a long and not exactly glamorous story. Maybe later. Hey, it's nice here," I said evasively.

My mother disclosed her opinion with a very un-ladylike snort. "That's one way to put it. Do you see the apartments there?" She asked, nodding towards the complex, sprawling out to our left. "Full of hopeless cases like me. They think if you can only stare at a jungle the whole day long, dying just won't bother you at all. Salarians. Hah! Say, how's Selene? A nice girl, isn't she?"

"Mom. We broke off over ten years ago."

"Really? Oh. I thought…" She waved it off. "Never mind." She lowered her voice. "If you ask me, those Cabals are not quite right in the head…"

All too true, unfortunately. "How do you feel? I mean, really."

She sighed. "Garrus. What do you want me to say? That on some days I have troubles remembering where I am? That with each attack I lose another chunk of my life? That I can recall giving birth to you but not to your sister? That I can remember meeting your father but not bonding him?"

The last made her voice falter. However freely our people went about with their relationships, once they _did_ commit themselves it was an all serious business. Having lost that memory must be killing her.

I reached out for her. "Mom, please… You shouldn't be so upset. It's not good fo-" She jerked her hand away, gesturing at me sharply.

"Not upset? NOT UPSET? You sound just like your father! You know what _he_ also doesn't want? To listen. Because _I_ don't want to die like _this_! Reduced to a sack of breathing, drooling meat, not even remembering my name let alone how to control my bowels!" She exhaled and she added softer. "The physical decline is bad but you have no idea how it is to watch the memories fade; bit by bit, day by day, wondering what will be ripped away from me next, until I've finally lost everything I ever loved…"

She bit back a cry and it broke my heart. This time, she let me take her hand and so we sat, watching the green of the forest stir in the winds, both pretending her faint sobs weren't there.

Finally she took a calming breath. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to… you know. Lament. So… Will you tell me the long and not exactly glamorous story about what my only son has been up to that it ended with him missing half of his face?"

I sighed. "If you insist…"

"Oh, I do."

"Yeah. Of course," I said slowly, leaning back in my chair and wrecking my brain for an answer that didn't contain countless dead people, me running havoc on Omega, Collectors or the imminent invasion of evil all-powerful AI's into our galaxy. Ah yes, and maybe Shepard wasn't a suitable topic either. Was she alright? There hadn't been word from her in a while and no, I didn't like it at all that instead I had caught a rumor through the old channels about the Hegemony putting an obscene amount of money on some human terrorist's head right after the mysterious destruction of the Bahak relay…

"Spirits, Garrus," my mother suddenly said into the silence, "I lived with sixty years of C-Sec reports; at my table at day and in my bed at night. I think I can handle whatever you're going to say. Besides," she added wryly. "Chances are good that I won't remember most of it in the morning anyway."

I looked at her.

Maybe it was the sarcasm that could not quite hide the deep bitterness behind her words. The frustration that distorted the subtle subharmonics of her voice.

Maybe it was the fear I saw in her eyes.

I took a breath and told her everything. Well, almost everything. Some specifics are simply not meant for one's mother's ears. When I finished with the destruction of the Collector base, she was regarding me with a calm thoughtful gaze, nodding with the kind of parental approval I had struggled my whole life to earn from my father and never succeeded.

It only made me feel all the guiltier for avoiding my visit for so long.

Then she said, "You know you have to tell your father…"

"Yeah..."

"Fedorian also needs to hear this."

I suppressed the urge to strangle the air in front of me. "I know. I spoke to Sol this morning. She and Dad will be here by tomorrow evening."

She nodded again. "Don't worry, you'll do the right thing. You always have."

I snorted. "You _do_ know this is me sitting in that chair and not Solana, right?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Just because your father can't wrap his mind around the fact that you are not like him, it doesn't mean we're not proud of you."

I shrugged. What else was there to say? It was a conflict so old I'd numbed myself against its sting a long time ago.

Suddenly my mother's expression became treacherously smug. "Alright, Garrus. All that talk about war and honor and fighting against nefarious aliens is very nice but when will there be grandchildren?"

I groaned and slapped my hands over my face.

"Aha. So you _do_ have a girl," she detected. "Come on, tell me about her."

"She's… uhm… a soldier. And a damn good one." I mumbled against my palm. I was certainly going to hell for this.

"Of course she is. Your father is going to have a seizure."

I put down my hands. "He doesn't honestly still believe I'm going to settle for one of the Primarch's daughters?"

"Well… they're special."

" _Special_? They're rather pretty much unable to find their way out of a paper bag."

My mother snickered. "Your father just dislikes to be proven wrong – especially if he _is_ wrong… So, how serious is this?"

"I…" I had no answer. I wasn't sure if there _could_ even be an answer. "I don't know. Spirits, I don't even know what this is supposed to be. It's complicated."

"The good things in our life always are, Garrus. Lets you know they're at least something worth fighting for."

"I'm not sure if this is a fight we even have a chance to win…"

"Let me reframe this question: does this woman make you happy?"

"Yeah… yes she does. But this isn't the point."

"No?"

"No. It's… She's… different from me in such a fundamental way and in the same breath she _understands_ me like no one else. The weight of all those lives depending on your command. How it feels like to be out there day by day just to fight another war. To try so hard and still lose it all…" I straightened in my seat, defiance hardening my tone. "The point is, around her I'm finally feeling like myself again. I feel stronger. Faster. And then I find her looking at me with this tiny smile and I know from the deepest depths of my heart she's making me not only a better soldier but also a better person."

"What about her? Does she feel the same way about you?"

"I think. Maybe. Damn, I'm not sure."

"How can you not be sure? No turian worth her blood would-"

I suppressed the reflex to flinch but something must have given me away. My mother stopped mid-sentence and regarded me sharply for very long and very uncomfortable moment. "I… see."

I didn't reply and she sighed.

"Different, huh? I guess there isn't much point in asking for her clan then."

"No." _Not much point in asking for grandchildren either._

"So maybe you better find out how she feels before it's too late, yes?"

I looked at her stunned.

She leaned forward and gave my hand a quick squeeze. "Garrus. You are my child; above everything I want you to be happy. If she's the one… so be it. And a human Commander can hardly be worse than one of Fedorian's dimwits, right?"

"Commander _and_ Spectre…"

Another sigh. "Yah. Let's not mention that bit of information. And stop looking at me like _that_ …" My mother stretched out an arm, her fingers brushing over my scarred cheek. "Look. This human saved your life, and for that she'll have my gratitude forever." Suddenly her expression shifted to something dangerous. "But if she is breaking your heart, by the Spirits, I swear I'm coming after her personally and snap her scrawny neck. Tell her that."

I chuckled. "Will do. Any more words of hearty advice?"

"Yes. Next time you see her, you take her somewhere nice. Maybe dinner. Or dancing. You tell her how you feel and then you're going to ring her bells until she knows you _really_ mean it."

I rolled my eyes. My mother to a tee. Needless to say that my adolescence was filled with some quite embarrassing episodes.

"You want me to tell her that, too?"

"Well, of course. How else will she know I approve?"

We talked until late into the night, about the past and the future and all those small and big things that had always felt ill-timed before. We laughed and argued; and it was so much more than just a life time of maternal advice crammed into a few hours. It was a farewell, both of us perfectly aware that we might not see each other again.

So when I returned to Cipritine with my father one week later, I left behind two things: My guilt and my Carnifex sitting hidden beneath a pile of colorful scarfs in my mother's night stand.

* * *

~V~

* * *

The blast of the explosion sent me airborne.

Hands clasped over my hurting ears, I tried to cushion my fall. It wasn't working too well and I got slammed shoulder first against the floor, pain shooting up my arm. With a groan, I curled into a ball, debris raining down on me.

They were here. Heaven have mercy with us.

I coughed, forcing my lungs to work. My ears were ringing. My vision was blurred.

_Move!_

I pushed through the rubble on all fours, my palms getting cut on shards of glass; pushed on and towards where the window wall and a row of raised speaker's desks had been. I squinted my watering eyes. Now there was just a huge hole, ruins, dust and tiny flames licking on everything they could consume. Was this the same room I've been standing before Vancouver's Admiral Board just a few seconds ago?

I crawled towards a slim female hand sticking out from under a piece of wall. I squeezed the hand and it did not stir. I yanked at the debris with all my strength and it did not budge. I hastened over to where Admiral Mikhailovich lay sprawled on his back, his eyes open wide. I shook his shoulder and he did not move.

Goddammit!

It was hard but I resisted the urge to kick the dead body, yelling "Told you so"

Instead I looked up and from underneath my mussed bangs I saw Hell.

Mat black the gigantic Reaper descended on the apartment block just across the street, its tentacles shearing through the four storied building as if it was made of paper. Red glowed and then the laser tore into a fleeing frigate. Soundless, the ship turned into a ball of fire. My brain told me that it must have made at least _some_ sound but all I could hear was this beep shrilling in midst muffled silence. I sunk back to my knees, my cut hands bleeding on my pants. The Reaper turned towards an office tower and I felt like screaming.

Someone grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me up. It was Anderson, a long bloody gash running down the side of his head and he was rapidly speaking but I couldn't hear the words. I pointed at my ears and shook my head. His eyes widened. Then he started running, dragging me behind by the arm. I looked back over my shoulder, staring into the Reaper's red eye.

We burst out of the doors and into a hall; the conference room going up in fire behind us. We ran through the deserted hall towards the maintenance stair case. Painfully slow my hearing returned. Anderson tossed me a gun. Against the thing outside it could just as well been a toothpick. I immediately felt better, though; the comforting cool steel as familiar as shaking hands with an old friend I hadn't seen for far too long. We hastened down the stairs. One level. Two. Three. Until a lone marine stormed up from below.

" _Puta!_ The way down is blocked!" The dark haired Latino shouted up to us.

"Lieutenant Vega, report!" Anderson replied when the marine caught up with us. The Lieutenant's gaze brushed over me briefly and I thought I had seen him before but couldn't pinpoint where.

"Sir, half of the building has collapsed. The stairs are impassable."

I exhaled slowly. I had survived so much. I _would not_ die trapped beneath a hundred tons of steel and concrete. "There has to be another way! Which level is this, four?" Vega nodded and I turned to Anderson. "Sir, we need to get back to the east wing and my room. From the balcony left of mine it's only a short drop to the roof terrace below. Maybe we can find a way down over the neighboring building." Guess the hours of pondering my little prison break fantasies was coming in handy after all.

"I know a route that should be free," Vega said. "Follow me."

.~'*'~.

Vancouver had gone all bedlam on us.

Ceaseless the unmistakable drone of the Reapers' main cannon echoed through the urban canyons, buildings crumbling left and right. Citizens screamed. Alliance vessels zig-zagged in the sky. Soldiers fought with fire, steel and dark energy. And wherever I looked, people died.

Husks swarmed the streets in sickening numbers. As if destroying the Collector Base hadn't even left a dent on their numbers.

The spaceport was not far from our current position. If we could make it to the Normandy… I gunned down another one of those bulky four-eyed _things_ and kept running after Vega and Anderson, skirting rubble, corpses and stray bullets. Oh yeah, with the Hegemony in disarray, the Reapers apparently had no troubles at all to harvest the remaining batarian worlds to bolster their ranks.

We reached the harbor. The spaceport was just on the other side of it. We ran along the docks, a row of sailers mooring and gently rocking against each other with the waves of the sea. Just beyond the harbor mouth, Vancouver's huge aircraft carrier was burning, thick plumes of smoke billowing over the vessel.

Anderson yelled something into his radio then gestured towards an empty runway branching deeper into the harbor. We thundered over the wooden planks. The runway ended and we skittered to a halt.

"The Normandy had to leave the port. But a shuttle's coming," Anderson said quickly. "It will pick the two of you up and bring you to the ship."

"Sir? What about you?" I asked over the ugly noise of war coming in from all sides.

"I'm staying. God help us, but with Arcturus gone somebody has to stay and organize our forces! You take the Normandy. Bring the Council in. Bring whoever you can get a hold on in. Whoever owes humankind even the slightest favor!"

"Anderson…" A Kodiak drew near, u-turning before the runway's end while opening the hatches. The maneuver smelled suspiciously like Joker.

He grabbed my shoulder. "Good luck out there. You will do well, Ivy. Now go!"

The Captain gave me a small smile and a push, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Aye, Sir."

"You too, Vega."

"But, Captain!"

"Go! This is an order!"

The marine in tow, I sprinted the short distance to the shuttle. Once inside, I turned, saluting to Anderson in farewell. The hatch closed and the Kodiak lifted off. Next to me Vega cursed in Spanish and scowled at the hatch. Through the small window I watched the lone figure of the Captain becoming smaller and smaller as the destruction wrought by the Reapers became more and more obvious. And inexplicably there was this tiny but fierce irrational part of me that didn't want to go. It wanted me to stay and defend the homeworld that had never really been a home to me with blazing guns against the alien invaders.

_You can't do anything for them here… You can do everything out there…_

Out there where Liara was, assimilating the Shadow Broker's resources. Where Wrex was, rallying the krogans. Where Tali was, warning the Migrant Fleet. Where Garrus was...

"Ma'am?" an unfamiliar voice suddenly sounded from the pilot seat. "Lieutenant Steve Cortez. On behalf of Flight Lieutenant Moreau I inform you that the Normandy SR-2 is reporting for duty."


	21. Falling shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN 26/10/15: sorry for me being so slow, but this chapter sucked and I had to overhaul the original version. Which also means I need to update the next chapters, but yeah -.-**

I heard from God today, and she sounded just like me.  
What have I done, and who have I become.  
I saw the Devil today, and he looked a lot like me.  
I looked away, I turned away!

Arms wide open, I stand alone.  
I'm no hero, and I'm not made of stone.  
Right or wrong, I can hardly tell.  
I'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell.

I'm not defending, downward descending,  
Falling further and further away!  
Getting closer every day!

I'm getting closer every day, closer to the end.

_Five Finger Death Punch - Wrong Side Of Heaven_

* * *

**~ Falling shadows ~  
**

Later.

The second the airlock of the Mars archives had closed behind us and we waited for the air pressure to balance, Kaidan had wanted to talk. True, it was the first moment since our narrow escape from Vancouver three hours back that we actually _could_ catch some breath, but with Vega in the middle trying very hard to appear invisible... I cut him off with a gruff 'later'. Kaidan had tried again, after we caught up with Liara T'Soni, who had arrived just an hour before us, and we got our suspicion confirmed that Cerberus was responsible for the death of all the facility's personnel. Only… I didn't want the asari to listen in either and the fact that Cerberus' was involved gave me too bad a feeling to let us be distracted by something that probably only ended in calling names anyway.

Later.

Again my answer was later.

But there would be no later.

Slowly I let go of the Alliance helmet with the shattered visor. A terrible weight constricted my chest. My senses feeling oddly remote and not like my own, as my mind still refused to believe that my friend was gone forever.

Across from me the female-shaped synthetic, Cerberus had used to infiltrate the Mars archives, twitched for one last time before its functions shut down for good.

The Illusive Man had given the order and the synthetic had killed Kaidan. No remorse, no hesitation. Before I had the chance to react it was already too late.

I clenched my fist, looking up from the Alliance soldier and at the debris of the crushed Cerberus shuttle. Then behind the wreck, past the buildings of the archive complex hiding another Prothean ruin and at the deprived red surface of Mars that slowly got swallowed up by the approaching sand storm.

Dead.

Kaidan was dead.

The Kaidan I'd met right after I finished boot camp at the Houston Air Base and got assigned to the same unit he was in. Dark-haired Kaidan of Ukrainian origin with the sad, brown eyes, who never cared for my bad reputation – or for hiding his fascination for the misfit that had overridden her fears with thinly veiled cynicism and an unbroken drive for survival.

Kaidan, who always kept sticking around even after one of his 'pranks' on me ended for him with a bruised shoulder and a dislocated arm – and maybe more so _because_ , the suicidal idiot.

Kaidan, who treacherously sneaked his way into my heart and became my friend against all odds; who soothed my deeply buried need for companionship, always hoping for something I was simply incapable to give.

Time and again we had put up with each other's bullshit; always fighting and yet needing each other too much to pull the plug. Time and again nourishing the silent hope that one day things would turn out to be different. That _we_ would be different. Until I got recruited into the N program and our ways parted for a while. Then we served together on the Normandy and I realized that after all those years we _had_ finally become different. Just not in the way any of us had expected.

But none of it mattered any more.

Because now we would never be able to fix the things that had gone wrong between us.

A light hand suddenly landed on my shoulder, ripping me away from my thoughts.

"Shepard…" Liara's voice said softly into the radio, her words ragged by static. "I'm so… sorry… we have to go... The storm…"

I squeezed my lids shut for another moment, forcing down the sob that got caught in my throat. The asari was right. We had to get out _now_ or the storm would pin us down for who knows how long. Precious time, we could not afford to waste. Not with the timer ticking away for Earth and all the other worlds that would follow.

_Function, Shepard._

I pushed myself upright again, then motioned towards Vega to get Kaidan and loaded myself with the disabled Cerberus synthetic.

We ran back to our shuttle, my dry, stinging eyes fixed on Vega and the dead soldier slung over his back.

_I'm so sorry, Kaidan. I never wanted this… I just… wanted to be your friend…_

I knew I should have felt pain. Hatred. Anger. Anything. But there was nothing. Just a terrible emptiness that kept spreading through me like a carcinoma, numbing me from the inside out. Taking away the need to scream. To cry. To feel. I welcomed the void's embrace and climbed into the shuttle, cutting off the memories that still lingered somewhere in the recesses of my mind.

At least we had the data, Hackett wanted us to get. So far I had no idea what exactly the Fleet Admiral and Liara expected to gain from millennia-old blueprints to some mysterious Prothean machine.

I just hoped it would be worth the death it caused.

**.~'*'~.**

"… can't believe this! Outrageous! How dare they…"

Udina kept on ranting behind his office desk but I was only listening to the human Councilor with half an ear. After Mars we had headed straight for the Citadel to start calling in favors. That had been 20 hours ago - of which I spend the better part locked inside various conference rooms. I probably should get some sleep, but then I would be forced to deal with sad hazel eyes and I wasn't ready for them.

So, instead I stared out of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Presidium with its opulent greenery and artificial lakes, the damage from Sovereign's attack some three years ago completely gone. Even the small mass relay that led to Ilos sat there as clean and undisturbed as if it had never spat out a gun-toting mako at full speed.

Yep, here on the Citadel the invasion was so fucking far away it could just as well be happening on a different plane of reality. Which made the Council of course fall ass over kettle in their rush to help Earth. Not. Oh yeah, once again I couldn't help the feeling that saving them from the Sovereign had been the dumbest decision I could have possibly made.

"… sacrificing billions of lives to buy themselves time. But they call us 'savages'."

"We will figure something out. We don't need them, Udina," I said, my eyes still on the vista below.

"Don't need… Excuse me, but how do you think this is supposed to work? In case you've forgotten the Reapers reached Trebia this morning. Whoever might have been willing to help us yesterday will now throw in their lot with the turians instead."

I crossed my arms before me and turned my head to fix the elderly man. "There are other options."

Udina's face twisted into a sneer. "Of course. The mysterious device. Spare me."

I locked my hands under my arms, my jaws clenched. It was that or strangling the Councilor with my bare hands. "Haven't you read the report? There were hundreds of Reapers back on Earth, and dozens of them like the Sovereign. And this was only by the time I left the system. Even if we throw every ship, every cannon and every man, woman and child able to hold a weapon at them, there is _no fucking way to defeat them_! Not by conventional means." I took a deep breath. "Udina, p _lease_ ," There it was. It nearly killed me. "Help me to get resources into the project. It's the only -"

The sound of the door's automatism made me halt and turn around. My eyes narrowed. It was… Sparatus? Why, wasn't the Council done with kicking me in the face?

"Udina. Spectre." The turian Councilor begun, then fastened his drilling green-eyed gaze on me. "I believe I have an offer for you to consider..."

* * *

~'V'~

* * *

The shower steamed.

Blissful, hot water was warming my skin and washing away dust and dark blood. A pair of slim hands snaked around my middle, blunt nails dragging lazily down my abdomen. My breath caught in a different rush of warmth. Blocky teeth nipped at my shoulder and a low growl of delight formed in my chest. I turned around. The short human woman grinned up at me, her eyes brimming with mischief. My gaze followed the water running down her alien, yet supple, combat-steeled body. It was also very… soapy, which made all kind of ideas invade my mind and I assure you, none of them had to do with cleaning up anything at all. She pulled closer and rose to her toes, her smooth-skinned front shifting against mine. She licked her reddish lips. My hands moved down her buttocks and, yeah, there was this sexy little moan again. I pushed her with her back against the steely walls of the shower, her thighs locked around my waist and then...

… then I woke to the sound of my own groan, my armor poking unpleasantly into my back, while in the distant the thunder of gunfire roared.

Damn it. I rolled out of the hard camp bed, whole body feeling stiff. Yeah. Definitely too old for these kind of things. With a sigh I rubbed my face. Two orbits stationed on Menae, Palaven's largest moon, and I was already fantasizing about showers. Showers that got inexplicably compelling Spectres in it. Right. Where had I only gotten the idiotic notion that sleeping with her would have made things between us any _less_ complicated?

Subduing the raw stab of need mixed with deprivation, I grabbed my Mantis and exited the portable shack, doing my best to ignore the unpleasant truth: I had fallen. Too fast and too hard for my own good.

Outside I nodded towards the two soldiers at the supply station. Talid, one of our Comm Specialists gave me a small salute and Arenya tossed me a nutrition bar. She still held on to the undeniably charming twinkle in her eyes. Twice I had already returned from my shift to find the Cabal waiting for me in my bed and twice I had sent her friendly but unmistakably away. As flattering as her offer might have been, it had also felt lacking to an alarming degree.

_Really, Vakarian? Are you already so messed-up that your own species isn't good enough anymore?_

I growled at the thought and bit into my MRE, while heading for the command post and forcing myself to be a dutiful turian, keeping my mind focused. Not thinking about the obvious when our own situation was just as equally dire. The Reapers had fallen upon us three days GST ago, a little more than one day after their attack on Earth. In the initial chaos I almost didn't arrive at outpost Rakasha in one piece. The troop transport that left Cipritine right behind us never made it. Its debris was now orbiting Palaven – along with many many corpses and not nearly enough destroyed Reapers.

Still, no matter how hard I tried, the worry would not fade; a worm that just kept eating at my mind whenever my concentration wavered. The Reapers had hit us hard, yet the footage I'd seen about Earth and the Sol system was plain devastating. It went against all logic to expect any personal message, not with the Systems Alliance in disarray about the destruction of their HQ and certainly not as long as there were right now some 200 billion people bombing our Comm Buoys from all over the galaxy. And yet… she just _had_ to be alright. I mean, the Collectors had killed her once – and all it had done was pissing her off, right?

_Too fast, too hard._

I shrugged off the thought and entered the command barrack, acknowledged by the general's nod. The man was leaning over the map board showing the terrain surrounding the outpost.

"What is our status, General," I asked Corinthus.

"It's stable."

"At least that's more than we had yesterday."

The general replied with a short snort.

"Any news about Fedorian?" I asked.

His face turned grim. "There were no survivors."

I suppressed a curse. He gave me a sharp look.

"You know what that means, Vakarian."

I did all too well. It meant that with the dead approaching mind-staggering numbers, Clan Vakarian, however small, got pushed awfully quick towards the frontline. And unfortunately, I didn't even need the fingers of both of my hands to count the candidates suited for _this_ kind of duty.

"We should get the radio back online," I said instead. "For my part, I wouldn't mind to have some warning before the Reapers swarm our position. With your permission, General?"

Corinthus nodded. "Assemble a team as you see fit. And Vakarian? Don't fail to come back. The Hierarchy _will_ need your service. One way or the other."

* * *

~'V'~

* * *

Palaven was burning.

Whenever I looked up from the moon's barren soil, my eyes were inevitably drawn to the huge planet above me. To the fires. To the explosions. And the sheer endless numbers of machines darkening the sky.

Hastily, I averted my gaze.

_You're vanguard._

I had to remind myself of this way too often of lately. But I could not dwell on what was happening there either. Could _not_ think about who else might have perished in the infernos the Reapers were unleashing upon the galaxy’s strongest military force. Smoothing my features, I followed the turian, who was in charge of this outpost, into the command hut.

Still, something must have shown on my face, for the General said, "It's bad, Spectre. But it looks far worse from up here that it actually is. The lines are holding. _Our_ people won't break."

I nodded tiredly, not seeing the point in arguing that Earth also hadn't fallen. Yet. A good thing I had left James with Liara at the camp's checkpoint. As keyed up as the marine still was about the Council's indifference, I wasn't sure if he could resist the temptation to shoot all my diplomatic efforts square in the face just to make a point.

"I'm here for Primarch Fedorian, Sir. A war summit has been called in. I was told he would be here."

The General's face twisted as if he had bitten into a rotten plum. "His shuttle was shot down this morning. He did not survive."

I pinched the bridge of my nose to fight the little stab blooming behind my eyes. Once. Just once I'd like to ask someone for _anything_ and hear them say, 'No problem, Shep. Here, let me help you right away. No strings attached.'

"I understand. I'm sorry for your loss, General, and I really do hate to press on but the clock is ticking. For all of us. Do you know who's next in line?"

Corinthus scowled at the map on the table before him. "No, unfortunately I do not. The outpost's radio mast was damaged this morning. Our communication is down until my tech team has fixed this mess."

"As they report to have successfully done," another voice was stating from behind and I thought my heart tried to jump out of my chest. "We should be online once more in a few minutes, tops."

"Hey, Garrus," I said and turned around. "I thought you were still on Palaven…" I hastened to stretch out my hand in greeting. It was that or throwing myself at his chest giggling like a maniac – which would have totally cramped my style.

He came to a halt, giving Corinthus a small bow of his head, before the General decided to frown again at his maps. There was a moment's hesitation, so tiny I even might not have noticed if I hadn't been explicitly looking for it, then the sniper's gloved hand clasped around mine. Ugh. Awkward. That was… unexpected. Quickly we pulled apart.

"I was transferred to Menae when the Reapers started pouring into the system. Somebody in the Hierarchy figured that it might be disadvantageous if their official - if not to say _only_ \- Reaper advisor got killed hiding in some moldy cellar from an orbital strike."

His face was deadpan. No expression whatsoever. I had no idea what to make of it, so I caught my hands behind my back and straightened. "Reaper advisor, huh? Sounds like there's a capital 'A' attached to it."

Garrus shrugged. "Politics. You know how it is."

Aware of Corinthus standing no five steps away I made some non-committal sound. Uh-hm. More like politics. Kiss. My. Ass. "Lemme guess? You kept yelling until someone tried to shut you up?"

At that his stony expression softened up, but oh, how I still could feel the rift gaping between us wider than the Mariner Valleys. It stung like a damn sonovabitch.

"Well, I learned from the best, actually. But - it gets even better. Someone actually listened."

"And a good thing the Hierarchy did. Without Commander Vakarian we would have lost a quarter of our fleet in the first hours," Corinthus added without looking up from his holographic map.

"My congratulations, then, Commander," I said and forced a smile on my face, gloved fingers clasping my wrist tightly as disillusion slammed into me unchecked.

It didn't matter that I saved their dumb Councilor a few years back. That I was a Spectre. That I would put my life in the line for one of their own in a heartbeat. 35 years of peace and all the majority of the soldiers out there saw was another alien intruder they were forced to play nice with.

Garrus knew. He perfectly knew it was one of the many reasons why we were Dead-On-Arrival and this was him pulling the plug. Or maybe he simply had moved on and I was once again the only idiot clinging to the past.

 **_You_ ** _told him it was just play and no strings. Deal with it._

How could I've been so incredibly stupid? This thing between us was an abomination that needed to be euthanized by fire.

The turian sniper started to say something then stopped, whirling around. We had a moment's ear-deafening warning and then all hells broke loose.

* * *

~'V'~

* * *

The impact of the missile ripped away my footing.

I rolled to the side and cowered behind the command barracks plated enclosure, Mantis ready in my hands. Me and my faithful companion squinted past the doorway. Shouts and gunfire sounded from at least four directions but it was impossible to make out more than schemes through the thick haze of dust.

Then I heard it. A deep, mindless roar no twenty paces away, followed by metal straining and breaking. Not missiles. Capsules. And by the sound of it loaded with something nasty and exceptionally ill-tempered. I looked over my shoulder to find Corinthus pushing the overthrown table off his chest, hissing commands into his headset. There was no sign of Shepard.

Why couldn't that woman sit tight for just one blasted moment?

I scanned the perimeter, dust beginning to settle. Faintly I could make out the remains of the capsule. It was big and something had managed to burst its way out with sheer force.

I looked back towards the general who was grabbing his assault rifle from the floor and I was certain I could hear the pale-haired Spectre swearing outside. The grip on my Mantis tightened. Corinthus seemed alright. Certainly he could…

_Duty, Vakarian. It is your duty to stay and guard your CO. Not to chase after some crazy, trigger-happy woman._

It should have felt right to fulfill the obligations expected from me. It did not. Worse, with every moment, every second I lagged behind the uneasy prickle between my shoulder blades intensified, becoming an almost unbearable itch. I gritted my teeth and stayed put.

Up to this point I had been perfectly percent certain that the rumors about her involvement in the Bahak incident were wrong, because no matter what, the Shepard I knew would have never been able to sacrifice hundred thousands of lives. After seeing that grim hardness in her eyes though... I wasn't so sure anymore.

A bluish light flashed ahead, followed by a figure approaching at a run and I heard another familiar voice shouting, "By the Goddess! Move, Garrus! They are coming this way!"

The asari skittered to a halt at the stair's landing next to me, turned and unleashed a biotic storm upon a group of human husks. I downed those that escaped Liara and a huge, nightmarish creature jumped into my view. And then a second. I shot at something that seemed like a head hanging on an impossible thin neck and I missed by a fraction, the bullet hitting the torso of the hulking monstrosity instead. Making zero impression.

No more time. I gestured at Corinthus to get him moving, tugged at Liara's arm and hastened towards the back of the small command shack, climbing over the fencing.

"What in the name of the Spirits is that?" the General asked as we ran around the barrack and into the thick of the attack; Liara mumbled some reply and I realized I did not care at all because no matter how hard I strained I couldn't hear Shepard's voice any longer.

* * *

~'V'~

* * *

The _thing_ charged me.

Or better it made a gigantic leap over the turian medic it had just killed and stood right before me in all its hulking, semi-organic repulsiveness. It probably was for the better that there was nothing in its dead eyes even remotely remembering sapient life.

I dashed to the left, barely avoiding getting crushed between an oversized robo-fist and the quite solid wall of one of the camp shacks. All around me, soldiers fought in small clusters, barely keeping the upper hand. I wasn't sure if they could deal with a third of those monsters on top of all the other husks swarming the camp. And even less if my odds were any better. Liara had run off to support Garrus and the General, and the last time I had seen Vega he had been engaged by two of those eerily clever turian husks. To top it I just had an agitated Flight Lieutenant on my comm yelling at me that the ship was freaking out and EDI had shut down.

Why me?

I threw a biotic sphere at the mutated meatball to get some attention then ran towards the fortified trench running along the southern end of the outpost, hopefully being annoying enough to be pursued. They had mounted a M350 on the barricades there. Let's pray it was ready for action.

The tech-born nightmare roared and chased after me. Fast. Really fast. Aiming over my shoulder I emptied the clip of my Carnifex into the brutish creature. It barely slowed. I zigzagged to escape another attack. This time I wasn't quick enough. The husk backhanded me. I sailed several feet before I crushed to the ground. The air got pressed out of my lungs and I gasped, my side flaring with pain. I ripped up my hands to unleash whatever biotics I could summon before going dark, only to realize that the beast had turned away from me. By sound of it the fighting was finally dying down. Maybe I just could sit this one out. Maybe… I craned my neck. The husk was closing in on Garrus. Garrus who had run out of ammo. Garrus-the-idiot-Vakarian who would keep saving my ass even if it got himself killed.

Mind blank, I scrambled to my feet, two or three bruised ribs screaming in protest. A thin red sheen crawled into my view. Above me the sky was burning and the dead... They were everywhere. I stood in midst a sea of twisted corpses of countless species, a shadowed figure stirring at the edge of my vision, but all I could see was the turian falling to his knees, blood spilling from a wound in his chest, blue gaze fixed on me. He stretched out his hand. I wanted to run and could not move. His eyes… dulled. I wanted to scream and had no voice. The shadow turned away. He fell. I wanted to cry and had no tears. 

_No.  
_

“No!” I howled and the images snapped, like a red veil jerked out of my sight.

Not. Today.

Not as long I was still breathing.

Pushing the pain in my side to some distant place, I darted towards the mountain of flesh and muscle. With a leap that made me feel like passing out any second, I jumped the beast's back, scrambling upwards. My combat knife sprang out of the sheath on my thigh and I drove it into the base where the creature's unnatural thin neck emerged. Dark, foul smelling liquid gushed from the wound, splashing me with a spray of gore. The creature screeched and still it advanced. I yelled a wordless battle cry and pushed the blade deeper, severing tech and the last remnants of spine and muscle cords. Headless, the creature finally staggered and dropped to the ground, me balancing on top of it. Breathing hard, I looked up and met the turian's gaze. I thought he was actually grinning.

"Shepard…" he said and then his arms shifted just so. Just one tiny gesture that should have changed everything.

Keyed up on the thrill of combat, it suddenly bubbled all to the surface and burst out. This moment of incredible peace I had found in his arms. The worries. The loneliness. The times I lay awake because of those dreams. Dreams that made me so afraid of falling asleep, because deep down something in me _knew_ they had stopped being ordinary nightmares.

I closed my eyes. Seeing myself leaping down the dead husk and right into his embrace. Imaging his arms slipping around me as if they belonged nowhere else. Breathing in his strength and never wavering solidness. Heaven help me. I wanted this to be real so badly it had finally pushed me over the border and straight into Mad Country.

_Oh yeah, go ahead and drag him down into your personal hell, why don't you?_

And then,

_See what happened to Kaidan? Do you really want him to become an even bigger target?_

The words made Shepard cringe and Ivy howl in rage. It still was the only truth that mattered.

So what do you do if the one thing you want the most, is the one that inevitably leads to your destruction?

I jumped from the corpse, wiping the blade on my sleeve without looking up.

"Let's find Corinthus. We need to pick up the new Primarch. Quickly," I said, my voice raw and torn.

Below the ever present distant noise of the Reapers attacking Palaven, I thought I could hear a soft crack.

I swear it was the sound of my heart breaking.


	22. At the End of a Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **2016/02/19: OMFG! That chapter was one hell of a nasty little b**ch. I rewrote huge chunks of it, got stuck for weeks at every second corner - while constantly being sabotaged by my dumb work life. But finally I did it. Fortunately the remaining chapters will only need a few fixes to fit them into the slightly altered plot.**
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> **Thank you guys for bearing with the agonizingly slow zombie girl**

I'm not strong enough to stay away  
Can't run from you  
I just run back to you  
Like a moth I'm drawn in to your flame,  
Say my name, but it's not the same  
You look in my eyes, I'm stripped of my pride  
And my soul surrenders, and you bring my heart to it's knees

And it's killing me when you're away, I wanna leave and I wanna stay  
And I'm so confused, so hard to choose  
Between the pleasure and the pain  
And I know it's wrong, and I know it's right  
Even if I try to win the fight, my heart would overrule my mind  
And I'm not strong enough to stay away

There's nothing I can do  
My heart is chained to you  
And I can't get free  
Look what this love's done to me

_Apocalyptica – Not strong enough_

* * *

**~ At the End of a Journey ~**

"I have to admit, I'm curious. How does it feel to be the best informed and probably most feared person in the whole galaxy?" I asked, idly tapping the top of a terminal monitor with my talons, watching my dialog partner with an innocent expression. I mean, seriously. When _did_ one get the chance to take a close look at the heart of the Shadow Broker's command center?

The asari wrinkled her nose. "You mean, how is it to have access to all the knowledge, people would sell their old aged grandmothers for to keep hidden?" she replied dryly from her seat at the desk, surrounded by crates, terminals and probably twenty monitors, she had dragged onto the Normandy.

The blue skinned alien leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers together to give such a close imitation to the cabin's previous owner - even down to the slightly aloof air and the close-fitting white combat suit – that I almost expected her to demand a status report on the ship's weaponry – along with a lecture that I should stop damaging Cerberus property by tampering with the Main Battery's surveillance systems.

Instead some of the young archeologist suddenly broke through and Liara continued, "To be honest? It's exciting. I never thought that digging up information is so alike to digging up artifacts. Slowly but steadily you advance into the deep, strip away layer after layer, until you finally discover the truth - which unfortunately gives far more often than I'd like to admit a whole new meaning to the word 'dirty' in dirty secret."

I leaned in her direction. "Dirty secrets? Now I'm all game..."

The Shadow Broker cocked the slim dark line above her eye. "Sure, Garrus; information dealer rule number one: when owning valuable knowledge, just give it to the next handsome guy you come across for free."

"That's not… Wait. So, you think I'm handsome?"

"Of course I do. I'm asari, we always appreciate people's inner beauty."

I rubbed the side of chin. "Flattering and insulting a man in one proposition? I'm impressed, Dr. T'Soni."

The asari gave me a tiny smile that lasted not even a single second before turning smug. "I live and learn, Officer Vakarian."

Women were still women, even if they grew blue tentacles on their heads.

Silence stretched between us until - but not before giving me another scrutinizing look-over - Liara finally picked up the conversation once more.

"Is there something else I can do for you? I sense you've not just come over to lure me into gossiping about the Consorts latest kinks, have you?"

 _Yeah, Vakarian, why_ _**are** _ _you here?_

I shifted in my heavy armor, suddenly all too aware of the fresh battle stains still tarnishing the blue and silver plating. Maybe I really should have changed after boarding the Normandy. Then again, so far I hadn't even had the chance to drag my gear anywhere except out of the shuttle and into the hangar before being round up first by James Vega and then by the new Primarch – who turned out to be a rather capable General named Adrien Victus – both trying with varying success to grill me on my previous adventures with the Normandy and her illustrious commander.

"Garrus? Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I..."

 _Sure, just tell her you're freaked out because you_ _**think** _ _you've seen something dark and alien stir inside an alien woman's eyes._

I shook myself and pushed away from the console. "Sorry, Liara, I should go. Already kept you long enough away from your work."

The Shadow Broker cocked the slim dark line above her eye in question, yet refrained from prying any further. So I quickly added, "... And I better check on the thanix. Who knows how many specialists had their hands on her in the meantime?"

"I see," she said, sounding suspiciously amused. "Until later then."

I nodded and turned to go.

"By the way, did you found him? The man you ask me to look out for? You never told me."

I halted without turning back; and even though the sharp stab of loss and anger had dulled to some distant, almost forgotten ache, my voice became unexpected rough.

"I did. But he was dead already."

**.~'*'~.**

I knew I wasn't alone the moment I stepped into the Main Battery for the second time in short order, carrying my last equipment crate.

There on the workbench the Commander sat; too absorbed in studying the data pad in her hands to notice me; the telling scent of coffee steaming off the blue, Alliance-branded mug that had betrayed her presence.

So far she hadn't changed out of her combat gear either. The Normandy was once more flying Alliance colors and so was she, the red and black armor of her special unit so eerily similar to the one she had worn when we met that day on the Presidium and yet so different, its lack of wear and tear completely belying the battles she had seen. Then again… it wasn't just the armor. Unbidden the memory of skin too perfect and unmarred for someone in our line of profession flashed across my mind and I chased off the following very adult thoughts. Damn it. Somehow the woman managed time and again to turn me into a needy primitive, thinking about sex 20 times a minute.

I walked over and put the bulky crate down beside the workbench, sneaking up a glance. The odd, pale human hair of hers seemed a good hand's breadth longer than I remembered, almost falling past her slim, yet surprisingly strong shoulders.

As if suddenly aware of being watched, Shepard stirred with a minuscule start and looked at me. A tiny smile played on her lips, the scar bisecting her left brow bestowing her face with a quite roguish touch and she set down the pad.

"Hey…"

"Hey," I replied and straightened from my crouch, trying to peer at her eyes without being obvious. _Was_ there anything unusual? Hell if I knew. "Seriously? A war summit with the very heads of turian, salarian AND krogan military? Things just never get boring with you."

"Well… gotta keep _you_ on your toes, Archangel."

"Right. I hope Victus isn't giving you too much trouble."

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "No. Actually, the Primarch is surprisingly agreeable. For a turian, that is," she added dryly. "You know him?"

"Not personally. I heard of him, though. His methods aren't always by the book, but he's a get-the-job-done kind of person. In that we're lucky not to be stuck with Fedorian. He is… he was a difficult man."

"Didn't you say he was a friend of your father?"

I nodded. "He was. But I know as well as you that traditional warfare won't stand a chance against the Reapers. Unorthodox on the other hand… Unorthodox might still ensure that we take some of those bastards down with us."

"Damn, I missed your optimism, Vakarian."

I shrugged. "I'm turian. We always try to look at the bright side of death. So…" I pointed with my thumb back over my shoulder towards the doors. "Was I hallucinating before or did a shiny synthetic with overdeveloped secondary sexual characteristics just stroll out the Med Bay and greet me in EDI's voice?"

She took a sip of her coffee and replied, "Yup. Cerberus' idea of an infiltration unit. We caught the thing messing with the Mars Archives' databases. It was EDI's… decision to put it to good use."

This time something odd _did_ flash across her face, yet it was gone before my meager skills at deciphering human expressions could kick in.

"Infiltration? What's it supposed to infiltrate? A night club?"

She just pulled up one of her shoulders and I added,

"Did Jeff know?"

"I certainly hope for him he didn't," she growled. "The ship was temporarily offline until EDI assumed complete control."

She grimaced at her own choice of words until her expression suddenly shifted into something dreadful, her voice no more than a soft hush.

"Kaidan's dead."

"What?" I sputtered, not believing the words I just heard.

"The Illusive Man… he ordered the synthetic to kill him. Just moments before we could apprehend it..." avoiding my gaze the Commander trailed off, her misery now as obvious as a hard punch in the face – and every bit as painful.

The trained killer in me scoffed at the unexpected notion. The man though… the man saw her hurt and wanted nothing as much as to make it stop. Strange how quickly one could get used to ignoring the stern voice that kept pointing out what a deluded idiot its son was…

I stepped over and wrapped my arms around her.

* * *

~V~

* * *

The turian's sudden touch sent a sensory shock through my whole body - and I assure you it had nothing to do with the fact that despite the stims my ribs were still hurting like fuck.

Holding my breath I stiffened, franticly trying to stuff all those conflicting feelings back into the dark box where they had crawled out, but they just kept pushing and pushing, as forceful and relentless as a spring tide.

"Shepard… I'm so sorry…" Garrus said and the words were humming inside his chest; humming through our armor and inside me so painfully good, as they slowly burned a path through the choking grief the memory of Kaidan's death had uprooted.

My arms slipped around the marksman, his armored front touching mine with a soft clunk. Just underneath the terribly annoying barrier he would be warm. Warm and strong and male and solid. Alive... Garrus' embrace tightened and while loss and joy were still fighting in my head for emotional supremacy, my body betrayed me. Face pressed against the spot between his shoulder and collarbone, I released a long breath against the hard composite material of his armor, then inhaled his earthen scent mixed with the harsh smell of blood and used heatsinks. Unable to hold up the tension any longer, I surrendered to the peace.

It was like finally coming home after an endless journey.

I bit back an embarrassing sob and held on, as frantic as if this embrace was the only sane thing left in the whole frigging universe. Maybe it really was.

 _Kaidan's gone. But he's still here…_ a small treacherous voice begun to whisper from a deeply fatalistic corner of my mind. There was an undeniable truth in those words, and, oh how I hated myself for them. It didn't matter that it was the same voice which had made me turn my back on New York. That let me survive on Akuze. That had time and again defied the tempting pull of the blissful nothingness while I lied on Miranda's table, more dead meat than living woman.

Vanguard. Ever push forward. Never look back.

Garrus shifted until his mouth brushed my temple. Much needed warmth cascaded down my spine, my fingers seeking almost desperately for purchase in the gaps of the heavy turian armor before moving along the edges to find the clasps.

I was vanguard. With every cell and every breath of my being - and it made me feel like a fucking traitor.

"Forgive me…" Garrus suddenly mumbled against my hairline. "But I fear I'm… hmm…a bit at a loss what the human protocol says for situations like… this."

_Simple. You grab the girl and kiss her like you mean it…_

"You…" The rest got stuck in my throat.

The armor protecting his torso clattered to the deck. I barely registered it.

 _HE_ _**WILL** _ _DIE IN PAIN._

Unlike the odd vision I had on Menae, the thought struck at me with sheer overpowering clarity. And this time its red-hazed brutality overthrew all reason, all mental guards; crushing down on me like a smothering avalanche of dread. My chest constricted as if squeezed by a giant's fist.

If he stayed with me, he would die.

At some point the turian had gotten rid of his bracers and heavy gloves. Calloused palms slid down to grip my waist and I felt the panic surge. I had to make him leave! Make him walk away without ever looking back. _I had to_ …

My body apparently begged to differ. Hard-skinned lips nipped a trail along my cheek and on instinct I threw back my head for better access, while urging my middle closer towards him. Ah yes. No intelligent life here.

"Stop. You have to stop," I managed with a breathless groan, despite that the feel of his rough tongue licking my neck was flooding me with heat. Bad idea. So very bad... "Garrus!" I struggled away from him; about as successful as an addict running from her fix.

He let go and I slid down the workbench. Quickly.

Worry etched his features. "You're… sending confusing signals. Are you alright?"

"Yes. No! I'm not. I… cannot do this, Garrus. I'm sorry…" I looked anywhere but at him. "It's not going to work."

"How will you know?" He asked, gently tilting up my chin so I had to look at him.

I stared into the stony alien face that had become so familiar to me; from hard grayish skin plates and blue angular patterns of clan markings, their clean lines only disrupted by ragged scar tissue covering one side of his face; to dangerous, ice-blue eyes that pierced straight into my soul with their goddamn intensity.

I jerked my head away from him, trying not to think how good it would feel to snake my hands under his now exposed blue shirt and drag my fingers over the tender skin of his hard-muscled abdomen… _Arrg!_ "Because it's madness, Vakarian," I finally replied in defense while backing off in the only possible direction, deeper into the room and closer to the ship's main guns. God, I sounded just like a broken record. My voice hardened. "And if you would think about it for more than just two bloody seconds, you would realize it too."

"Someone once told me that madness is merely a matter of perspective." And then - "You're afraid," he stated and I wasn't sure if it was meant to assure or mock me. Maybe a bit of both.

"My fears are irrelevant." And now I sounded just like Miranda. Unbefuckinglievable.

He took a step in my direction. "Oh, so that's it, yes? The great Commander Shepard: facing death, Reapers, Collectors, maws, rachni - all without blinking an eye - but too scared to give us even the _chance_ to try?"

"Dammit, Garrus! There _is_ no fucking chance!" I spat and tried to retreat further but my back brushed against the rail. That was okay. Cornered I was only harder to kill.

“Really? Then why don’t you just say it? Look at me and tell me that all what happened between us means nothing to you,” the turian growled; his voice low and full of disharmonies. Then he started to close in on me.

“Stay. Back.”

He ignored me and it fanned my ire into a red hot blaze. Needles prickled underneath my skin, frantically seeking release in a biotic outburst.

“This is an order, _Soldier_!” I hissed, sinking in as much command as I could while forcing my biotics to stand down.

He hesitated for a split second, his undamaged mandible twitching once. “Say it.” Another step. Goddammit!

“I warn you, Vakarian… Stop pushing me!”

“Or what? Are you going to have my insubordinate ass?” He asked maliciously smooth, never breaking his advance. “Go ahead, Commander. I think I might even enjoy it.” Then he halted; close enough to block my way. Close enough to... “Say it, Shepard. Say that it means nothing. That...” His hand darted forward, the back of his calloused fingers hovering over the side of my face with the barest contact. “…when I touch you, physical sensation is all you feel.”

I battered his hand away and craned my neck to look straight into his icy eyes. “I feel nothing,” I spat, but oh, how the words twisted my little pathetic heart. “Fucking nothing!”

My fist went for his chest before I even knew it.

"You lie." He caught my hand unnaturally fast, a predator's piercing blue gaze pinning me down. "I want to know why."

_Oh yeah, that went well. Straight into the lake of incompetence. Never mind undressing first._

Not trusting what would come out of my mouth next, I merely glared back. Maybe if I stared hard enough I could still force him into submission.

Instead… all of a sudden his stony expression softened up. "Please."

I opened my mouth – and closed it again. What was I supposed to tell him? That I was having these frighteningly real visions? Heard voices in the night whispering of destruction and death of everyone and everything I ever cared for?

That I was losing my goddamn mind?

Or even worse: that I perfectly knew what it all meant?

"No. You don't understand. You need -"

"Then help me to." He slipped his hand into mine, three claw-tipped digits fitting strangely natural against my five. "Don't do this, Shepard. Don't shut me out. Please. Ivy..."

It felt odd, hearing him say my name. My real name. I've been Shepard, the dutiful, ever functioning soldier for so long I could hardly recall being Ivy anymore. The only who still called me like this - who still _remembered_ the other me - was Anderson and… well, Kaidan…

The Alliance. The Council. Cerberus. Ever since waking in that cursed lab I realized more and more that to _them_ Shepard was nothing but a mean to an end. A faceless, convenient tool – useful, yes – but a tool nonetheless. If the tool broke, it broke. You didn't mourn, you didn't pause. You just moved on to the next, and no second thoughts wasted.

Fuck me. Reaper invasion or not, I so had it to the limit to be everybody's tool, I was very tempted to flip the whole galaxy off and just go fishing.

Except… I watched the turian watching me. Regardless that my life was one big fucked-up mess, _he_ somehow still cared. For Shepard, the soldier. And for Ivy, the deranged lunatic.

_Which is all the more reason to keep him away from you, remember?_

Oh the irony, indeed.

Once again, I focused on some distant point behind him, wiggling my hand out of his grip. So I was a coward. Sue me. "I have a… dream," I finally begun, dragging out the words. "It started shortly after the Collector station. At first I thought it was merely the way my psyche was dealing with the things I've seen - but then the dream kept coming back. Changing. Remember all those cocoons? Well, in one of them was a woman. Dead, but not like the other abducted colonists. She wasn't a husk either. She looked _different_ … in a more hybrid kind of way. I dream of her, but it's not this woman I'm seeing. It's me, turned into a horrible blend of human flesh and Reaper tech. Just… like Saren was." I paused. "Then I wake up, and I swear I can still _feel_ the cold metal breaking through my skin. The implants drilled into my brain. My body is hurting in phantom pain all over and deep down in my heart I know it's not a dream at all…"

I forced my gaze back to Garrus, the i-word hanging between us like freaking curse.

I pushed the rest out before he could reply; my voice no more than a hoarse whisper. "I cannot allow you to get any closer, Garrus, and wanna know why? Because before this is over someone might have to find the courage to put me down…"

I expected him to protest. To recoil. He did none of it.

Instead, the sniper's other hand slid up my neck to cup the side of my head, thumb caressing my cheekbone. Efficiently keeping me from avoiding his gaze once more.

"You're not like _him_ ," he finally said, flanging syllables hardened by determination. "Saren chose to become the Sovereign's slave. You don't. You fight. He didn't. Saren gave in to indoctrination long before the Sovereign even started to take over. Never forget that."

_Oh, Garrus. The world is still just black and white for you, isn't it?_

"And what if fighting isn't enough…"

He regarded me for a frighteningly long moment. "It changes nothing."

I pried his fingers away from my face. And yet I couldn't bring myself to let go of his hand. So pathetic. "Dammit, Garrus. Haven't you been listening at all? _A Reaper is fucking with my mind!_ "

In a flash the stubborn set of his jaws was back. "Trust me, I have. It's just that it isn't making any difference."

"If this is about Ilos -"

"It's _not_ about the things I said, Shepard."

No. It was about the things he felt. Which was much much worse.

I groaned in frustration. "So let's assume – just for one tiny moment – that we keep up with this insanity. What about Victus? Or the others?" I exclaimed, grasping wildly for any straw, however farfetched. "This is no longer some renegade action running underneath everybody's radar, Mr. _Reaper Advisor_. We're visible now. Your people look up to you. Tell me Garrus, exactly how much respect will they have for a deviant who fucks a human?" I asked in only partially faked scorn. "Or do you think you can keep it a secret; turn me into your hidden whore?"

Talons dug almost painfully into the back of my hand, yet I doubted the turian was aware of it. He actually looked afflicted. Then he said with a growl, "I won't hide anything. Not from them or anyone. I've paid my tribute to the Hierarchy on the battlefield over and over again; fighting, killing and shedding my blood for their cause more times than I even care to remember – so believe me, _their_ opinion on my personal life is about the last thing I give a fucking damn about."

"And your family? Don't you care about their opinion either?"

"Point taken. Let's avoid mentioning any Spectre business and we'll be all set."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "It's still that easy for you, isn't it? Just punish the criminal, and to hell with any consequences..."

Suddenly his fingers relaxed. He leaned in and then his forehead brushed against mine. He exhaled slowly. "No, it's not," he admitted, then added, "Shepard, there will always be something that tries to stand in our way – but we spot it, fight it and then we kill it. And after this, something different will come along and we'll take it out as well."

"And then what? You think we can keep fighting these things forever?"

"No. Then we go home."

I let go of my breath. Felt the warmth of his rough skin seeping into my cold cells.

Going home with him.

The notion touched a fatal yearning buried so deeply within me, I hadn't even realized it existed.

I had been on my own almost as long as I could remember. Had learned the hard way that trust was a gift better kept to yourself. It had never bothered me that, when I dragged my aching, battle-worn body back in by the end of the day, my bed was always empty. I've been content with the course my life had taken – in a twisted, self-preserving way, but still content.

And then I died - and the comforting calm I used to find in solitude was gone. Gone and exchanged for an oppressive feel of deprivation and emptiness. The moment you suddenly realize you're lonely – and that it's eating you up. You try to fight the feeling but the more you struggle the deeper you sink. You try to soothe the silent hurt; to fill up the emptiness, but the closer you let someone, the brighter the need for proximity burns.

I closed my eyes with a sigh, my body aching from far more than just the recent combat and the severely lack of sleep.

I wanted this. Despite Harbinger, the war and the collective contempt of both our people. I wanted it so badly, it was killing me.

One way or the other.

"You have it all figured out, Vakarian, haven't you?" I finally brought out, resting one palm against the turian's shirt-covered chest. Then pushed him just far enough away to get a look at his face.

"Well, maybe not all of it," Garrus admitted. "But, as you see, I'm still here and willing to try." He chuckled and rubbed the scarred side of his chin. "Guess, we simply have to figure out the rest as it comes."

"Just like always, huh?"

"Just like always."

That much rock-solid conviction was more than I could take at the moment. I pulled away.

"Yeah, well, I… I should go. The war summit is in three hours. I need to prepare... things." Oy. Commander Shepard, Master of Evasion.

The turian stopped my getaway with a snort. "You're going to have Wrex and the Dalatrass at one table. No matter how prepared you think you are, they will bristle and bitch at every possible suggestion of cooperation just by principle. What you need is a clear mind and rest. You are aware that shooting one or both of them accidentally wouldn't be exactly diplomatic? Interspecies incident and all?"

I threw up my hands. "For god's sake, I kill things for a living. What can the likes of me possibly know about diplomacy?"

"My words exactly. When was the last time you slept, anyway?"

"Thanks, but I'm fine, Doc." Boy, was that a lie.

"Wrong answer, Shepard."

I exhaled. Long and slowly. Part exasperation and part dread. Uhg.

"Look," Garrus added, after mustering me and my distress. "I've some work to do anyway, so… Why don't you just catch some shut eye here and I promise to wake you if something important pops up. Deal?"

I eyed the cot pushed against the wall to my right, across the workbench. Sleeping in his bed. Sure, how bad could it possibly be?

"Okay. Deal."

Exhaustion began to drag heavily on me as soon as the admittance left my mouth. Maybe I needed that rest a little more than anticipated. I shuffled towards the camp bed, unbuckling the chest protector of my armor. I sat it down next to the cot, boots, bracers and greaves following suit, then stripped out of the aramid enforced fatigues, leaving me standing in a tight gray spandex longsleeve and matching pants. I pulled the shirt over my head, remembering in the middle of it that I wasn't alone. I looked back over my shoulder and at a turian, who had apparently lost all interest in whatever work he had claimed to have.

"What?" I arched a brow at him.

"Well, don't you think it's a little bit too late for modesty?" he asked, shooting me a grin full of pointy teeth.

I looked down, and at the shirt I had been unconsciously holding in front of my chest. I rolled my eyes then threw a ball of shirt in his direction, using the moment of distraction to peel out my pants and crawl under the thin military-grade blanket, keeping my bra and panties. Better save than… ah, you know. Garrus chuckled and turned back to the Main Battery's console.

I tugged at the blanket and a yawn cracked my jaws. Somehow it was a nicely reassuring notion that I could watch him whenever I opened my eyes. And yet…

"Garrus?"

"Yeah?"

"Hey… would you… stay with me for a moment?"

"Sure."

He walked over and sat down on the deck next to me. I wiggled closer to the edge of the narrow bed, then reached out and caressed the scarred side of his face, the destroyed tissue almost soft under my finger tips. Making blue eyes regard me with their unfathomable depth.

I pulled my hand away and swallowed, the same old fears wrapping their tendrils around my throat once more. Then I said, "The thing is, no matter what we do, no matter how hard or clever we fight, there will be the day when one of us won't return… and it scares me, Garrus. Like nothing ever had."

"You shouldn't worry so much, Shepard. We will be okay."

"But how can you believe this? No wait, scratch that. How can you even _say_ it? You _know_ we're going to fuck up rather sooner than later."

The turian shrugged. "Hmm. Maybe that's because whatever happens, I know I will meet you again in heaven – and I heard they got a terrific bar over there."

"Heaven... you realize the only way we're going to get there is through bombing those shiny gates open, right?"

"Maybe," he replied, voice playful and smooth and yet laced with a smoldering intensity underneath. "But guess what: heaven or hell, there is no one in this blasted universe I'd rather storm their gates with."

Oh god.

He finally did it. With the back of my hand I quickly rubbed at the treacherous wet about to stain my face. I was in so deep, I would never find the surface again.

I forced out a laugh, but my voice was husky. "Oh… wow… So you _do_ know how to melt a girl's heart."

He winked at me. "Never said I didn't. A guy has to keep at least some of his secrets."

"Aha. Lemme guess. For the air of dashing mystery and intrepid valor?"

Suddenly he leaned forward, so close I felt his breath tickling my cheek. "Mm-hmm," he mumbled with that blasted almost-purr, causing a spike of anticipation to shot through me. "You think you know me so well…"

Stiff lips nipped at the corner of my mouth, yet pulled back before I had the chance to react.

"Try to get some rest, Commander," he said, rising.

"That's an order, Vakarian, or what?" I asked, my badassness somewhat spoiled by another half-suppressed almost-yawn.

"Yeah."

I snorted, but fatigue was already prowling on the outskirts of my mind, tugging heavily on my lids. I closed my eyes with a sigh, listening to the turian's soft mutters. _Calibrations, huh?_ I thought with a silent chuckle. And yet… For the first time in long I felt… less alone.

Safe.

_Just another lie…_

Yet as if to mock the voice, sweet dreamless sleep rolled over me.

**.~'*'~.**

"Well, at least it didn't go _all_ bad,"

I said through gritted teeth while watching how the Dalatrass stomped out of the Normandy's conference room, back towards the airlock and her waiting shuttle, turian Primarch looming at her side. Short by salarian standards, she barely topped my own meager 5"6 – and made up for every missing inch with her attitude instead. From the way his shoulders slumped, Victus seemed to be at the receiving end of another royal hussy fit; probably using all of his gritty charms to keep the Dalatrass from running back here to commit bloody homicide. He did a remarkable job considering the situation. I had to give him that.

Unfortunately it also meant that Earth would see no salarian ships fighting against the Reapers.

The reply from across the conference table was reduced to a low, derisive grunt.

 _Krogans._ I rolled my eyes, tugging at the cuffs of my formal uniform. Bah, so much for diplomacy. Things had keeled over so quickly, I doubted that my badges and my shiny medals (which had apparently evaded the fate of my apartment and outlasted in a box on Anderson's book shelf) had been of any good at all.

However, finding the box along with my weapons and the rest of my meager earthly possessions - as well as a set of brand-new N7 gear - in a storage crate in the Captain's quarters told me at least that the Vancouver commission _had_ planned to install me on the Normandy once more – small comfort it gave now that they were all dead.

_And so you failed them. Intentionally. How many will die because of this, because you choose to soothe your own guilty conscience instead of standing for the very people you've sworn to protect?_

No. The genophage was wrong. Even Victus had admitted it. Seeking the cure _was_ the right choice. The only choice. The Dalatrass and her armada could go to hell.

Growling something unintelligible at his omni tool, Wrex suddenly pushed away from the table and bestowed me with a scrutinizing look.

I shrugged. "What? No dead bodies left behind. I don't know about you but where I'm from that's supposed to be on the plus side."

"Yuck."

I frowned at the krogan. "This is all you have to say? Yuck? What happened to 'thank you Shepard for convincing the Dalatrass to let us approach Sur'Kesh without being shot down immediately'?"

The leader of Clan Urdnot wrinkled his already furrowed face, showing me a mouthful of crooked shark teeth.

"You reek of turian."

Why, why me?

"Don't you humans have no decency at all?"

Did he actually seem scandalized? Inconceivable.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Seriously, Wrex? A lecture about decency? And from someone whose species is notorious for dragging scale-itch even to the most civilized corners of Citadel space?"

The old krogan snorted, pointing one fleshy index finger at me. "You try sharing a habitable zone the size of a shoebox with slobbering beasts that have nothing on their minds than filling every cavity they can find."

"Uh-huh. Must be quite the trial. For the varren."

He barked up a laugh and I hurried to add, "So, just between you and me, what exactly is it we're supposed to pick up from that research base?" Quickly, before this conversation would enlighten me on more things better left in the dark.

"Females."

"Females? As in krogan females?" I tried to picture a female krogan, but all my mind offered was the disturbing image of Wrex in a dress.

"Exactly. Ever heard of a salarian named Maelon Heplorn?"

_A lie, Shepard, quick._

"Uhh…"

He waved it off. "Never mind. I don't know why, but Heplorn was working on a cure for the genophage. Made a deal with Weyrloc Guld and bunked down in an old hospital. If they had succeeded, Guld and his lot would have gained dominion over the other clans from now till doomsday come. Had it probably already all planned out, the worthless hemorrhoid growing on the ass end of a pyjak. One day, though, rumors begun to spread. Rumors that spoke of experiments instead of a cure. Seemed that their operation had gotten completely out of control. And then, just out of the blue, _someone_ decided to put an end to Heplorn's 'research'," the krogan finished with a pointed look for me.

I merely arched a brow at him. "Pissing on the parade of about every krogan in the galaxy. Gutsy." No, this wasn't even within a mile of gutsy. It was in its own little universe that had a big fat 'insane' smeared all over it.

"Heh. You have no idea… Still, he was a butcher. The things he did with our females… Heplorn needed to be put down, and none of us would show the quads to stop him. Not as long as there was still the slightest chance of success. However bloody..."

Wrex trailed off, studying and flexing his paw-like hands. Then he resumed idly,

"Now, Shepard, I just can't help wondering. Three bullets. One in the head, one in the heart and one through the vocal cords, just to be sure. STG classics. See, this hospital, it's close to bordering Urdnot territory. So what are the odds that the Council sends not only a Spectre but also a STG team to the same area in bumfuck nowhere – _at the same time_?"

Slitted, reptilian eyes regarded me with the impassive cool of a relentless predator. If he decided that I betrayed him, he would kill me. Without a second thought, without losing much sleep about it. He would snuff out my life, here and now, utterly indifferent to the consequences.

And just like that we were back on Virmire once more, staring into each other's eyes over the barrel of a gun. It scared the living daylight out of me, so I laughed it in the face.

"Wrex, to the Council I was still _dead_ at that time. Technically, I haven't even been a Spectre then. Not to forget that I was quite busy avoiding to end as maw-chow."

The krogan kept staring at me.

Subduing the reflex to run, I stared back unblinking. After another eternity the clan chief nodded.

"I see," Wrex finally said and added something in his native language that sounded suspiciously like a curse rolled into a derisive snort. "Can't believe I'm sayin' this. Maybe age has finally softened my brain. Hmm… well, in retrospect that someone might have done us a favor. What good is a cure that will rob us of even the last shred of our honor…"

That… certainly was unexpected.

_Everybody's changing. Even him._

The krogan cleared his throat. "Well, thought you should be aware of this. I mean, in case you ever… come across something. Being a Spectre and all," he finished with a wry grimace.

"I'll… keep it in mind. Just in case," I replied, eying him carefully.

This was a trap, wasn't it? But hadn't I already made my decision?

"Good."

"Good."

We stared at each other for another moment. Then I asked, "What happened with the hospital after Heplorn's demise?"

Wrex' expression soured. "Guld. Turned out he wasn't quite as stupid about this as I thought. Never told anyone the location, so nobody knew where to look when he stopped checking in. Then, merely two weeks after you left, my scouts spotted some unusual activities during their border patrol. I sent a team but by the time they arrived, every data carrier, printout or sample that could have been of use had been cleared out. Thoroughly. For us they left only the dead. The slowly rotting corpses of Heplorn, Guld and a bunch of Weyrloc guards. All neatly lined up and all a little more than two weeks dead. Still had my men search the building and in the basement they found dozens of dead females. We assumed that no one survived the experiments."

"But some did…"

"Yeah. Some did. And you and I, we are taking them home."

**.~'*'~.**

Gulping for air, I rolled down from the turian and for a moment I just lay there on my back, waiting for my pounding heart to slow and the air to cool my heated skin. The adrenaline in me ebbed and I listened to Garrus catch his breath was well, while enjoying the first traces of the deep relaxation only physical exhaustion could give.

I was sweaty, my muscles ached and I felt fantastic.

And a little guilty. After the war summit I had spontaneously decided to violate the turian's personal space. Again. Just for a short nap to refresh the batteries. Or that had been the plan. Instead I'd slept like a very dead log through the whole 18 hours flight to Sur'Kesh, missing out my shift on the bridge and forcing Adams as my XO to deal with Victus and Wrex and all the drama. Apparently the Doc had decided that I wasn't to be disturbed and enforced the order with an iron fist. Ah yes. In hindsight I probably just should have let her stick those needles into me and be done with it… Of course that wasn't the real reason I avoided the Normandy's Chief Medical Officer. Aside from the usual prodding and poking she would have wanted to talk and Dr. Chakwas was just too good at making me spill things better left untouched.

I suppressed the rising bleak memories and turned my head to wink at Garrus who was still lying on his side like a slug. At least he had finally shed the subdued mood the sniper had adopted since we left Sur'Kesh this noon. Something was gnawing on him. It likely had to do with that ornamented silver disk I caught him staring at before; the one he made vanish as soon as he noticed me watching him with the pendant in his hands. Clearly he didn't want to talk about his ghosts either. That was okay, I knew something that worked much better anyway.

"Ready for another round, Officer V?"

Lazily Garrus blinked at me. "What is wrong with you?"

With laced fingers I straightened my arms over my head to stretch my back. "Nothing. I'm just rested."

In fact, after the debacle with the Dalatrass I had expected tons of trouble from the salarians. As parting words went, "You're going to regret this," wasn't exactly inspiring confidence. However, we had landed, discovered that Mordin was the one snitching information to Wrex, grabbed him and the sole surviving female and hopped off. No remarkable verbal derailments, no raw livers waved around dramatically on a sharpened stick, no death squad suddenly jumping us from behind - the lack of drama had been almost disappointing.

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

The former man of law and order groaned.

"Uh-huh. Say, what happened to your perfectly fine endurance? I find it hard believe that this is all you've got," I exclaimed and pushed myself off the mat and into a sitting position to retie my damp hair, then gave him a pointed look. "I mean, are you sure you were even trying to make an effort?" I let my voice drop a few notes. "Or… did you just wait for me to lay you? Again?"

A dangerous, slightly unnerving light crept into his gaze. "Still trying to make me blush, huh?" The corners of his mouth tugged up wolfishly and even through his loose fitting shirt and pants I could see his muscles tense, all strength coiled up.

I moved, rather through instinct than in reaction and rolled to the right, barely escaping the turian jumping at me with a wrestling hold in waiting.

I leaped to my feet and managed to retreat a full three steps towards the middle of the hangar, before the turian sniper once more came for me all claws, fists and bared teeth. I blocked a vicious hook with my arm and countered with a rapid series of punches. Of which none really scored. Damn, but despite his previous laments, his reflexes were still ungodly fast. Or maybe the six months in Vancouver just had spoiled me rotten.

I danced out of his immediate range and let my cover slip a bit. The feint was obvious. Something told me he _still_ would be unable to resist. For the fracture of a second Garrus hesitated. Then he went for the opening. I twisted to the left and my taped right foot slammed into his hard muscled abdomen in a classical roundhouse kick.

His breath whooshed out with a soft whistle and in the moment of contact I realized he had let me hit him on purpose.

Before I had the chance to disengage, Garrus grabbed my calf.

"Hey… that was almost too easy. Are you… even trying to make an effort?"

There was a way too smug grin on his face. Wherever his thoughts went, it probably had me hoping around on one foot, trying to keep my balance, in it. I didn't like it. Such things were bad for business. I wiggled against his grip. Yep. Like being stuck in a bear trap.

Gathering as much momentum as possible, I pushed off the mat and tackled the surprised turian with my knees and good ol' flexibility. My knuckles kissed his jaw and he grunted, releasing my calf to repay the favor with a punch to my – so far– good side that certainly would have by tomorrow turned into a bruise the size of a pizza. On some suicidal level I was delighted that Garrus wasn't holding back for me, the squidgy human. On the other… ouch.

I clenched my teeth to keep the groan inside, my feet finally finding ground. I spun to the side, but Garrus still caught me. Grabbing me from behind his arms went around my chest pinning mine to my sides. Bloody reach indeed. I snarled and he chuckled.

"Mh-hmm. I think I like it when you go all angry on me," he mumbled and warm breath tickled my neck. Adrenaline spiked. A flash of desire shot through me and tugged at my inner thighs, rigorously overriding any remaining pain. "It's… feisty."

Between protruding bones and ridges, I felt a distinct hardness against my butt. The two sex fiends in my head cheered, wasting no time to load my mind with their ideas for an encore. All too aware of his arms just below my breasts, I rolled my hips a bit. In a second his hold shifted from a combat move into something else entirely.

I threw back my head, hitting him straight on the nose. He cursed and the hold on me loosened. I snatched his right arm and wrenched it into a shoulder lock, slowly forcing him down on the mat.

"Feisty? You must have a death wish, Vakarian."

"You tell me," he replied in all smooth turian stoicism, oh-so unimpressed by the fact that he was lying shoulder-locked on his belly, with my knee poking against his spine. "You're the expert there, Shepard."

Har har. My lips curled up. I leaned forward, dipped under his pointy fringe and dragged my teeth across the exposed back of his head, listening to the low rumble building up in his chest; demand and plea rolled into one sexy growl.

_Tiebreaker? Oh yeah, lemme show you some tiebreaker, Archangel._

"Ey, Lola! Can you and Scar tone it done at bit? Some people _do_ want to work out in here!"

Uhm, yes. There was that. Cheeks warming, I turned my head to the marine straining the pull-up bar no twenty foot away.

"What, you call that workout, Vega?" I shouted back. "Maybe if you're geriatric. Come on, Soldier, bring it! No pain, no gain! When the tough gets going, the going gets tough! No - hey!"

Something pinched my bottom. Hard. I released a very undignified yelp and Garrus bucked below me. For a fraction of a second I thought nothing happened - and then I sailed through the air. I landed on my back and the turian's full weight descended on me, pressing the air off my lungs. I tried to throw him off but couldn't get enough leverage. Arrg, dammit. Instead he grabbed my hands, long fingers wrapping around my wrists and pinning them to the mat.

His laugh was low and husky. "Hey, I hadn't noticed that a badass like you could make such cute little noises."

"Thin ice, Vakarian. Very thin," I said through my teeth, my voice strained.

"You know what? I really wonder what you're going to do about-"

I lifted my head and gave the underside of his jaw a long lick. He drew in a shivering breath, his fingers flexing on my wrists.

The sound of a cleared throat made me wince. What was wrong with those people? Couldn't they just… move along? Nothing to see and all?

"May I have a word with you, Commander?"

My face flushed crimson. Victus. Oh, for fuck's...

"... and this is why in hand-to-hand combat you should never underestimate the way human joints can bend," I heard myself say, while shoving the turian off, and yep, aloud it sounded just as absurd.

"Dangerous flexibility. I'll keep it in mind, Commander," Garrus replied with thinly veiled amusement.

Still hanging on to the pull-up bar, Vega was making little suffocated noises, his whole body shaking with silent laughter. Of all the times being unable to shoot laser beams from my eyes...

I scrambled to my feet, just to find the Primarch watching the scene with a disdainful expression. Aaand there went my respectability. Jumped straight off the airlock. Great. Fantastic.

I stomped into my sneakers, grabbed a towel and motioned for Victus to follow me to the other side of the hangar. I dried my face on the towel and leaned against the Kodiak, looking at the Primarch. Hands clasped behind his back, he seemed troubled. Not good. The silence stretched. What was he waiting for? I wrecked my brain for the many interspecies warm-ups I had attended during my service but somehow the lessons never covered dealing with a Primarch. Figures. I decided to sit this one out.

At the other side of the hangar, Garrus and Vega had gone from exercising over to arguing about one of the assault rifles the Alliance had stocked the ship's armory with.

With a shake of his head, Victus suddenly sighed, losing some of his rigid stance.

"Regrettable."

"Primarch?"

"The best recruit in his recon unit. Highest marksman score at 2500 paces ever recorded within Blackwatch; two medals of valor; tier 26 candidate."

The Primarch turned away from the scene on the other side of the hangar, his face an unreadable mask.

"Sometimes I wonder what's worse –that we were incapable of holding one of our finest soldiers or that in all those years Vakarian spent on the Citadel, C-Sec never even bothered to recognize the potential they had right under their noses."

My eyes narrowed. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because, I think you should know that it's no less than one of our best who has a high opinion of you and your abilities."

"Let me guess; it's an opinion the Hierarchy doesn't exactly share."

He shrugged, as if to tell me that it wasn't him making the rules. He was respectful enough not to insult me on my own ship, but damn me, if he wasn't poking at the edges just for the hell of it.

"They don't; and if these were normal times, I'd also tell you that personally, I consider his viewpoint rather… biased."

_Translation: your coochie damaged his wits. Get the thing away._

Awesome.

I arched my scarred brow at him. "These aren't normal times."

He chuckled without any mirth. "No. I'm afraid they're not. That's why I hope you'll prove me how wrong I am instead." The Primarch resumed to watch the proceedings on the other side. "I don't think we can win this war by any conventional means. I'm not happy about the course you've taken with the Dalatrass, but in contrast to her I see the necessity. If we're unable to overcome even our most primitive prejudices then we're already as good as defeated. We _need_ the krogans. And anything that threatens this alliance is a threat to all _you_ claim to be fighting for…"

Oh, how I didn't like the tone of this. Not at all. "I see. You have a strange way of asking for help, Primarch."

He faced me once more. "Commander, please. I don't expect you to understand our ways; after all you're _human_."

How did they always manage to make it sound like an insult rather than the statement of a fact? The great mysteries of the universe indeed.

Then the Primarch added in a lower voice, "But I promise you, if we can't solve this situation, you will have another war you don't need on your hands on top of the invasion."

I rubbed my temple. Boy, was I growing tired of those strings.

"Alright then. What do you need me to do?"

**.~'*'~.**

Four hours later I sat at my desk with a coffee, staring at reports and thinking about any clever way to sneak into the Kelphic Valley – preferably without having Wrex and two billion krogans stomping this fragile alliance into the ground while screaming for imminent bloody vengeance.

Planting a planetary bomb on Tuchanka. Decades ago or not, I could have kicked every turian just by principle.

I didn't even know what riled me more, that Victus was coordinating covert missions from my ship behind my back or that I was only told because they botched it badly and expected me to fix their fuck-up. For a moment I had been really tempted to come clean with Wrex and watch the spectacular fallout from a distance, but…

_Please, Shepard. I sent my son and his unit to disarm the warhead but they never reported back. I need your help…_

Yeah, so much for trust.

With a sigh I set Mordin's report aside. Odd how life sometimes changed our perceptions. Once the Professor would have done anything to keep the genophage strong. Now he was in the Med Bay, working day and night with the only survivor of Heplorn's experiments to synthesize a cure.

Next came Anderson's last report. They had become increasingly vague with locations and numbers. A precaution; nobody knew if and how far the Reapers had managed to tap into our communication systems, but even so it was clear that the situation back on Earth was nothing but devastating. I had Anderson on the radio just this afternoon and he had once again reassured me that we still had time, that Earth would endure, and yet... Difficult to keep up faith, when this small voice just kept whispering in the back of your mind that no matter how hard we fought we could only lose…

I took a gulp from my cold coffee to avoid chasing down that particular rabbit hole. Because the good news was that our all survival depended on ancient blue prints of an enigmatic machine with unknown functions, anyway. My head started hitting the desk with small repetitive motions.

"Are you feeling well, Shepard?" EDI suddenly asked over the radio.

I lifted my head. "You tell me."

"Vital data normal. Your blood pressure and cortisol level are slightly increased but within the expected range considering the current situation."

"See? As good as it gets."

"You might want to know that Officer Vakarian has inquired after your status as well. He believes you might need some diversion. Shall I patch him through?"

"No!" I winced at this first vehement reflex. I just couldn't help it. Regardless of our previous understanding, I wanted him here and at the same time see him on his way to the other end of galaxy. Both for the same twisted little reasons. "I mean, not right now. I'll see him in the Mess later anyway and -"

The swoosh of the door made me break off and turn in my chair.

Liara's soft voice filtered into room. "Can you spare a moment for me?"

"Sure." I got up and motioned the asari in, then got down the stairs and dropped onto the couch. "What can I do for you?"

Liara hesitated for a moment then chose to sit down beside me to my left, her white uniform sliding softly against the brown and white leather of the couch. "We… hadn't the chance to talk so far."

"True." I hadn't just avoided Karin. I'd avoided them all. "I'm sorry. There's just so much to do. So much to plan…"

The asari nodded yet her black-rimmed blue eyes called out _bullshit_. "I understand. I don't think I had even one moment for myself since Hagalaz," Liara said, her features hardening at the memory of killing the original Shadow Broker then taking over the role along with his vast network. She had indeed aged those past years. No. Matured.

"Things were so much easier when we merely had to chase down a rogue Spectre, huh?"

She chuckled. "That's also true. Though I can remember some situations… uhg…"

The smile froze on my lips. Of course those were also the days when I had left Ashley behind to die.

_I’m sorry, Ash. Turns out I failed you both in the end…_

“Liara…” I said, quickly, before I got dragged any further down memory lane. “The prothean device… Do you actually think it will do us any good?”

She was silent for a moment, her bottomless asari eyes gazing at a place beyond me. Then she returned and said, “Yes. Yes I absolutely believe it will. Building this device gives the people what they need the most: hope. And as long as there is hope, we still have a chance.”

I leaned back into the cushions, looking at the ceiling.

Hope.

Automatically my fingers had found their way underneath the folded blanket to my right. Brushing over the damaged leather hidden there. Lost. So lost.

“Yeah. I like that thought…” I mumbled.

We sat in a comfortable silence. Until -

“I can imagine that things must seem very dark for you these days… just… don’t give up on the light. It’s still there; we sometimes simply have to look for it in places we never expected...”

I said nothing and she added,

“As an asari I feel… _different_ about death. We grieve and treasure our memories like everyone else and yet… Whether we lose a friend, child, mother, lover - rather sooner than later our heart will always allow us to move on. Some say this proves we’re incapable to love. That is not true. With a millennium’s life span, our hearts are built to hold many loves, yes – but the melding also ensures that we’ll carry a piece of those we loved and lost in us forever. Anyway, in those two years while you were gone… I think deep down _he_ was the only one who never really gave up on you.”

Liara’s hand curled around mine, giving it a little squeeze.

“Just remember, Shepard.”

 


	23. Welcome to the Nightmares in my Head

My life  
Is out of my control  
Powerless, beneath you  
Letting myself go

I just wanna feel  
I just wanna feel  
I just wanna feel something  
I just wanna feel something  
Tell me can you heal  
Tell me can you heal  
Me now?

Give me all you got  
Come on and shock me  
I'll take the pain  
Just to feel alive again

Don't stop  
Come on and shock me  
I'll take the pain  
Just make me feel alive  
Again, Again

I wait,  
Chills down my spine for you  
Take your time with me  
Make my body feel new

_Syka - Shock me_

* * *

**~ Interlude ~**

_I lay awake._

_Stare at the closed shutters above my bed, as I do in most of my sleep cycles of late, pushing myself on as long as I can. Because only when I fall into an utterly exhausted, almost comatose sleep, there will be no dreams. I'd have gone for meds but the Doc is already watching me like a hawk. No pill leaves the stock without her knowledge and I'm not sure I want to explain why I need the sedatives._

_But then, the insomnia also gives me time to think. To dissect my thoughts and actions with a precision that would have put a brain surgeon to shame. Yet how can you tell? How can you separate subtle whispers from lingering echoes summoned by your own fears?_

_The problem is you can't, and this uncertainty gnaws at my sanity like a hungry worm. Causing me to spend my sleepless nights reviewing my encounters with Harbinger over and over again. Searching for this one redeeming clue; the final confirmation that my thoughts are still my own._

_Ironically, it is the absence of any "incidents" after the abduction of the Normandy's crew and especially during my time in Vancouver that fuels my silent hope._

_Plus there's Menae. This strange vision I had… Why not earlier? Why not while leaving Earth or even on Mars? I tell you: because Harbinger had been among the machines attacking the turian homeworld instead. Coincidence? I don't think so._

_Logic rather tells me that no matter how much the Reapers want us to believe in their omnipotence, their immediate influence must be bound to physical proximity – either to the actual Reaper or to a control device. By now I'm convinced that's how Harbinger was able to control the Collector drones in the first place; some kind of sender, outfitted with parts of the Reaper's consciousness then left behind with the Collector ships. And whenever I'd come close to one of their vessels, I'd stepped right into the Reaper's waiting grasp…_

_I shiver at the thought, even though I_ _**know** _ _I should be safe enough at the moment. Especially since we just keep jumping around the clusters and hardly spend more than a mere few hours in one place... Instead it's almost as if I can feel the taint; those tiny tendrils of black, growing and burrowing their hooks ever deeper into my mind._

_Bidding their time._

_And time's something the Reapers definitely have in abundance._

_It's not the first night in which I wonder how many have come before us. How many races, civilizations, obliterated so thoroughly not even a whisper of them remained. How many lives..._

_As for the why…but against my hopes the prothean beacon has no answers to offer either. I even shared the message again with Liara, yet there were no new clues, insights, nothing. Just the same old fractured nightmares, the last frantic memory burst of a people facing their imminent extinction._

_Could it be as simple as that the Reaper AI, unbound by time, place and procreation, reasoned one day that biological evolution is a cycle based on destruction and death anyway? That they concluded in their own twisted programming that wiping out organic life is the only feasible way to keep us from laying waste to the whole universe? Just public service on the real big scale? If anything it fit the almost obsessive-compulsive regularity with which the Sovereign and Harbinger proclaimed their own superiority – and looking at our latest efforts… Let's say if "big fat cosmic joke" had a dictionary entry it would sport our picture below._

_True, we managed to disarm the bomb - yet we couldn't save Victus' son. Mordin did synthesize a cure for the genophage - and died deploying it into Tuchanka's atmosphere. We kept Cerberus from overtaking the Citadel - only to find out they succeeded in snatching Omega instead. Thane saved the salarian councilor from the Illusive Man's assassin – and paid for it by bleeding to death while watching Kai Leng escape. I went beyond the Perseus Veil to broker for peace between the geth and the quarians – and was forced to sacrifice Legion to get it. I almost lost Tali too…_

_For each special unit extracted, I learn of a world destroyed._

_For each battle won, I watch another friend die._

_And the worst? It doesn't even matter how hard we fight, resist or scrape up resources. We are losing. Not so slowly but therefore even surelier; while the galactic community is falling apart faster than any of us can say clusterfuck._

_Just as the Reapers predicted…_

_Their words echo in my head and a slight feel of panic creeps upon me, squeezing my chest. By reflex I reach out and into the dark at my side, but of course my fingers find only empty sheets._

_Isn't it ironic? All the turian sniper's combat experience, all his skill and tactical knowledge - and in the end it's his ass in a conference chair that I need the most. Garrus might be downplaying his "token title" along with its "token task force", yet the fact remains that Fedorian, and even more so Victus,_ _**did** _ _back the position with a not insignificant portion of the Hierarchy's political weight._

_And heaven help us, we need every ounce we can possibly lay hands on._

_Cerberus' attempt to secure the Citadel left the Council in disarray, to put it mildly. The war, they so liked to pretend to be too fucking far away for them to care, had finally arrived at their step and barreled through their doors bloody axe in hand. Sold out to the Illusive Man by one of their own; by the one who fought so hard to gain this very position and their respect. Udina. Once again the irony is thick enough to swim through._

_I would have laughed if not for the fallout._

_Decades of hard earned trust, going up in flames within moments._

_It didn't matter that it was me who kept Udina from splattering Councilor Tevos' brains all over the balcony for good. That I begged them to listen and not to withdrew the preciously few resources they had poured into the build of the Crucible on behest of the human Councilor._

_Maybe if Anderson had been here, or the Admiral, things would have turned out differently. Yet all Earth had was me, and we already know how well diplomacy and I got along._

_On the bright side? For once they actually believed in my innocence. It wasn't enough to derail them from their course but it was something. I even kept my Spectre status - if only on the condition that I never set foot again in Citadel tower, let alone the Council chambers. Which rendered any further attempts to persuade them hopeless in extreme._

_This was disaster. How long before the Council would convince their respective leaders to stop supporting the project as well? How long before each race would abandon their allies only to concentrate their forces on their own borders?_

_Odd, but our defeat never felt more inevitable than in this very moment when we stood there on top of the Presidium, Udina's still warm blood pooling on the concrete, and they told me flat out that under those circumstances they could no longer support humankind. And who could blame them? Fact is, only a rare handful of people are even aware of the project's existence, let alone any specifics. I had no evidence to show them, no blue prints, not even the hint of a location. They had trusted us on my words and some sketchy assurances alone – and then that bastard mangled it straight to hell._

_And just when the hopelessness was crushing down on me and I could have howled in frustration, the turian sniper who had watched the exchange mostly in silence spoke up. As if someone had flipped a switch he strode towards the three remaining Councilors, his posture straighter, his voice firmer. Garrus pulled rank with the turian Councilor and damn me, if the sight wasn't as impressive as it was weird. From insubordinate officer to renegade merc leader to the only political lever our cause had left. Who would have thought?_

_So when the Normandy left the morning after the Cerberus coup, he stayed behind to clean up the mess._

_The turian didn't like it one bit. Any sane person would have jumped at the chance to avoid Reapers with both feet; he complained that we're screwing him out of all the fun. Figures. Next time I'm going to show him the lovely new scars I got from taking down a Reaper with a targeting laser up close and then…_

With a sigh I finally gave up. "EDI? What's our status?"

"Arriving at docking bay D-24 in four point five hours."

I nodded and pushed myself up.

Sleep was an overrated concept anyway.

* * *

**Chapter 22 ~ Welcome to the nightmares in my head**

"… by the way, name's Garrus Vakarian," I said to the woman sitting next to me at the counter of one of those new designer bars located in midst of the Lower Wards; showing her the undamaged side of my face and giving my best to sound equally as charming as confident to match the aloof air of the overstyled environment. Let's see: going by the name _Crystal_ , the bar came with sharp lines, high contrasts; lots of stainless steel and blackened glass; snooty waitresses, window slash screen wall overlooking the wards and a monstrosity of a chandelier made from black crystals hanging above our heads. The bar as well as the dozen or so occupied booths had been sunken waist-high into the floor, forming small isles of privacy. Me they rather reminded of the diamond-shaped trenches military had us dig out ad nauseam. In short, the kind of place my C-Sec paycheck would have never taken me, but yeah. What good was all the money when an armada of Reapers was waiting just beyond the horizon? Besides, after weeks of bickering with the Council I felt like I've earned a reward. Or a medal of valor.

She lifted her glass in a wordless toast, the amber liquid inside swirling. Her eyes held a dangerously mischievous glint. "Vakarian, hmm? I think might have heard a thing or two about you."

"Really?" I asked and raised my bottle of quarian beer in reply – which was in fact the only eatable foodstuff the Flotilla had ever produced.

"Oh yes. They say you saved the Council a few years back… They say you're a hero."

I almost choked on my beer. Instead I rubbed my scarred mandible, all while avoiding those big, admirable eyes. "Do they? I don't know. Rather a soldier who just did what needed to be done."

The woman chuckled and took a sip of her own drink. She swallowed; the slow motions of her muscles drawing my gaze to her slim neck and I couldn't help but imagine licking the so beautifully exposed skin from the collarbone up to her jaw line…

 _Garrus Vakarian, you're a dirty man_.

I shifted on the barstool and cleared my throat. "So… what brings you here?"

"Sushi." She said, eying the entrance just a little wistful. "Even managed to get a table. But yeah… just my luck."

I nodded in sympathy. Though stylish enough, the bar straight across the Citadel's best sushi place hadn't been my first choice either. Apparently some issue with the fish. The _other_ fish. "Guess it doesn't do it for Ryuusei's well-heeled customers to watch the living decoration floating around belly-up."

The woman chuckled. "No, obviously not. Anyway, my Commander ordered us to enjoy some shore leave, so… I'm having my commanded time off and my commanded fun."

She plucked with her slim fingers at the hem of her black dress. It had an intriguing asymmetric cut; one-long-sleeve-one-shoulder-off that exposed her collarbone, while one side stopped at mid-thigh and the other came down a little past her knee.

Then she sighed. "The girl at the shop promised that in _this_ I would have to fend off the flocks of admirers with a stick…" She looked around and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Can you believe it? I think she was lying just to make a sale."

"Impossible," I replied amused. "But well, maybe it's the boots."

"The boots?" she asked incredulously and looked down at her feet sticking in black, calf-high combat boots. Then she snickered and pointed with her index finger at me. " _You_ are quite a smart-ass, turian."

I lifted my hands in defense. "Seems like you have me all figured out."

"Is that so? I bet there's a lot more to you than you care to let on…"

"Careful. Sounds like you're trying to lure this easily impressible vigilante into some shady business."

"Maybe. I heard of this new infamous club at the Presidium - hard drinks, low morals. Interested?"

"Maybe."

She smiled, this mysterious oh-so-female little quirk of her facial muscles, a gesture as sinful and old as creation. "You know, there's a saying in my unit: what happens on shore leave, stays on shore leave…"

"Uhm, not sure what my commander would think about it. She can be rather… strict."

"Then we better make sure she doesn't find out…" she said, her playful sultry voice as distracting as the cool fingers brushing over the back of my hand. Almost distraction enough to make me ignore the commotion I noticed from the corner of my vision. Almost.

The fingers on my hand froze and I looked towards the entrance, just as four – no five – figures in drab combat gear shoved past the asari manning the welcome counter, most unimpressed by her yelp followed by an indignant "Reservations only!"

That's 26 cycles since the Cerberus attack. Past time Bailey made C-Sec pull their shit together and got them back on the streets in force.

One of the intruders – medium height, thick neck, broad shoulders, overly muscular arms and legs; human male, definitely – stepped forward, face hidden beneath a black helmet. The barrel of a battered Scimitar bounced atop his right shoulder as if he was wielding a cane instead of a shotgun meant to blast a gaping hole in anything closer than 10 paces and at my side the pale-haired human Spectre groaned, "C'mon, seriously? Now?"

The man stopped in front of the sunken seating area closest to the door and lowered the scimitar at one of the salarians sitting there. Oh, I knew that type of criminal. Less interested in money and more in seeking an easy excuse for violence. Omega was breeding them like flies.

"Let's keep this simple," the human male bellowed in a deep throaty voice. "You part with your money or you part with your life. Your choice."

Honestly, I'd seen back alley robberies that had more style.

Paralyzed, the brown skinned amphibian stared into business end of the shotgun. "W-what?"

"Wrong answer. Too bad."

The scimitar boomed. People begun to scream and dive for cover, one or two thugs hooted and I used the moment of diversion to slip off my chair and cower behind the bar counter next to Shepard who was already fondling her Stiletto. And how had she actually managed to hide the gun in that dress?

She seized me up in that utterly female kind of way. Then her eyes narrowed.

"Wait. Where's your gun?"

"Didn't bring any," I muttered under my breath, sneaking a quick glance around our cover to assess the erupting, vociferous chaos. Seemed like not all of the intruders were d'accord with shooting their possible credit sources in the face.

"What? Why?"

"Sentry at the front door," I turned back with a shrug while my fingers pointed out directions. "Two arguing over the dead salarian, two rounding up the patrons. You told me to. No deep thoughts, no Reapers, no business. And who brings a gun to a date, anyway?"

"Who doesn't!" she exclaimed, her voice low and all serious. Might have even bought it, if not for the mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Besides, I don't need any," I said with a wink, then activated the emergency shield generator my paranoia had made me install in my jacket and jumped out of the trench. "Coming?"

From behind me came another growled curse - then the Stiletto's safety clicked for a second time.

"Oww, fuck it."

* * *

~V~

* * *

I looked at the once beautiful chandelier.

The once beautiful chandelier looked back at me, a myriad of shattered crystals littering the white floor between us. Great. Like anyone would believe it wasn't my fault. I sighed and let go of the genius, who thought it a brilliant idea to bury me under four hundred pounds of metal and black glass. He sunk to the floor unmoving, his snapped neck testament to the force of my biotic blast. I spun around, just in time to watch how no twenty foot away the last of the wannabe robbers fell prey to a chair hitting him square on the back.

The turian jogged over, looking inexplicably smug.

To my right an asari and a youthful human woman cowered arm in arm below their table, eying me with a mix of relief and horror. No recognition though. Seemed like everyone had been too busy to draw the line between the biotic nutcase in an outrageously overpriced cocktail dress and humanity's first and, from how things were faring, only Spectre. That is, they hadn't so far. I preferred it to stay that way.

I shared a look with my partner in all crimes. C-Sec would be here in moments and since neither of us needed to spend the remainder of the evening in a tiny C-Sec coop, arguing with an overworked officer about reports and exceeded authorities…

Before any of the still dazed patrons or – heaven forbids – the hysterical staff could think about keeping us, we slipped out through the kitchen's back entrance.

The door closed behind us and I let out a deep breath. Soon the Citadel would entered her night cycle; the artificial sky turning into a blanket of black, lightened up by the pools of light coming from the countless apartments and shops. Last time I'd seen a "real" night sky I'd still been in Vancouver. Damn. It felt like ages.

"Yeah. That… might not have played out exactly as planned…"

I whirled around and pressed a kiss on the turian sniper's rough lips.

"Doesn't matter," I said, realizing all of a sudden how much I had missed the sound of his voice… Damn, I'd missed him. Missed him whenever Cortez had dropped us off in another hot zone and I found myself surrounded and outnumbered, fearing that this was the end. While fighting the Reaper on Rannoch or crawling through that rachni infested hole on some uncharted planet. And in all those sleepless nights…

_Run._

An aching need washed over me, almost too powerful to bear. Yeah. Just take him and run. Find a spot in some forgotten corner of the universe and hide. Away from all this bullshit; from politics and hopeless causes. From ancient machines and dead friends. Away from this war.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a long moment. The thought was just too tempting - and equally deceptive. If the Prothean beacon had shown me one thing than that there simply were no safe places. Not as long as the Reapers were committed to their mission.

And still…

I retreated half a step, causing Garrus to look at me. "Let's get outta here. Just us. Just tonight. Somewhere. Anywhere."

Calm blue eyes regarded me while talon-tipped fingers wrapped around my hands. "You realize that Tali will never forgive us if we bail on her, right?"

I dropped my head. "Right." There was that. "Forget I said anything." With a sigh I looped my arm around his and we started hurrying down the pathway.

For once our efforts had actually paid off - the asari Councilor had finally given in. True, it had needed one insistent Reaper advisor and an armada of machines swarming the Athena nebula, but still.

The Normandy had just left Rannoch when I've gotten the message, so we headed straight back to the Citadel. Where I learned that the Matriarchs were willing to contribute not only as many troops as they could spare, but also some "important Prothean artifact". And that watching footage of zombie-like abominations swarming your birthplace could be one helluva motivator.

That was this morning. Not wasting another moment I had run back to the docking bay, Reaper advisor in tow, shouting at Joker over the radio to ready the ship, mentally already on the asari homeworld painting the ground with husk blood. At least until I stepped out of the airlock to find myself confronted with Mutiny in the Name of Sanity. Mutiny instigated by my XO and my quarian engineer of all things. Worse, they had even managed to pull the Doc on their side. And worst? They were right. One night's delay wouldn't make a difference for Thessia. But it would make all the difference for my crew…

"Well..." Garrus finally said, dragging me from my musings. "Chances are good that we are going to die tomorrow anyway, and if this is our last day alive then I'd actually like to remember it. See, there's this one thing I always wanted to do..."

"Aha. You got a head full of smut, Vakarian."

He snorted. "I was just talking about violating 137 C-Sec regulations." Then he chuckled. "Though making it 138 does seem like a terrific idea…"

I snickered. In some regard men were just men; human, turian, krogan, salarian, squid – it simply didn't matter one bit.

**.~'*'~.**

"But sea-stingers, Tali!" Garrus exclaimed over the Purgatory's stomping electronic beat. The club certainly lived up to its name in many ways. "What the… They're not only aggressive as hell, no, they have also ten legs. Ten! Do you have any idea how fast those critters… critter around with so many legs?"

The quarian mechanic shrugged. "Maybe she just eats them?"

My turian sniper's face twitched in disgust. "Eat? You're not really believing this, are you?"

In reflex Tali made an odd gesture, thumb pressed against her third finger, wrist turned upwards. If hadn't known better I'd say she was warding off evil. "Pff. Why not? You guys would eat anything that has four legs except the table."

"Exactly! Four legs. Not six, eight and certainly not ten!"

I set down a round of fresh drinks and dropped into the seat across them, pointing with my beer at the turian. "Waitwaitwait, just let me get this straight: You had access to the Broker's terminal and first thing you checked was Sha'ira's private shopping list?"

Garrus pulled up one shoulder then grinned, hands spread out in front him. "See, it's valuable information. Earned me a brand new thermal scope and three bottles of horosk - plus, you _really_ should have seen Wrex face…"

"Yeah, right. Valuable." I rolled my eyes. Soldiers and gossip. Even better, gossip on the infamous Consort, who – let's face it – was just as likely to give head instead of advice.

"Apropos information," Liara suddenly said from her seat next to me and set down the datapad she had been staring at the last fifteen minutes or so. "I heard there was a robbery at the _Crystal_."

"Aha." Did I already mention that 'Aha' is a fantastic word?

"Oh right," the quarian mechanic picked up. "They say some people went absolutely crazy in there. Even destroyed that huge chandelier, can you believe it?"

"Inconceivable." I sooo knew it.

"By the way," Liara added suspiciously smooth. "What have _you_ two been up to?"

"Violating against 137 security regulations," I blurted out with the first thing that came to mind while Garrus mumbled something about "Shooting down an army of rebellious bottles."

All true. Why the asari couldn't stop smirking was beyond me.

"I need a drink," I said, snatching my half-empty beer and made a beeline for the bar, passing the dance floor where one somewhat squinch-faced flight lieutenant was shifting to the beat alongside EDI and her almost obscenely female platform. _She_ on the other hand was beaming like a nuclear reactor three secs shy of a meltdown. I couldn't help but smile. Okay okay; so there might have been certain threats involved to get Joker off his chair. But damn me, if the AI hadn't managed to wiggle into my distrusting heart and became more Crew to me than others of flesh and blood. And I wanted my Crew to be okay, regardless if we steered straight towards the apocalypse. Maybe more so because.

I ordered some bourbon then turned around. My back to the bar I scanned the perimeter for any imminent threats, because hey, I already had my night's fill for _that_ kind of entertainment.

I frowned towards the entrance. Was this… al-Jilani arguing with some Alliance soldiers? Uhg. Dim illumination or not, I hastened to look away. The only thing I needed even less than a night in C-Sec custody was a lawsuit for headbutting that idiot reporter. Again.

Unfortunately my move brought me into the line of sight of Aria. The Illusive Man really had some freaking nerves. I mean, who was actually stupid enough to march into hell and kick Satan herself off her throne, right? (Yeah don't bother, that was just rhetorical).

Still, thanks to their move, Omega's recently deposed ruler now reclined in her private corner at the far end of the room, and was staring daggers at everyone daring to cross the invisible borders of her tiny realm. Including me. I turned away with a sigh. It couldn't be helped. Recapturing Omega with Aria and no more than four dozen of her personal nutcases - seriously, this was a no-brainer even for someone with my track record in the questionable decisions area.

At our table Vega and Cortez tried to lure Liara and Comm Specialist Traynor into a drinking game that basically consisted of flipping coins into an empty shot glass. There seemed to be more laughing and bullshitting around than actual drinking, emphasizing again how much the Crew had needed the shore leave, even if it was just for one night.

Garrus and Tali were still engaged in some - by the way the quarian mechanic was throwing her hands around - rather colorful discussion. The turian appeared relaxed and cheerful in his sturdy casuals, and I couldn't quite fight off the tiny, however irrational, stab of jealousy. There simply was this natural ease in their attitude towards each other and, damn it yeah, in an oddly cute, Fleet-and-Flotilla kind of way, they _did_ look good together. Fitting.

_Then why don't you just let him go? Make him find someone closer to home?_

I stared at my hands on the bar's counter, feeling all the misery of the past weeks catching up with me at once. What if we were merely struggling against the inevitable? What if there really was no hope?

_If this is our last day alive…_

I downed half of the amber-colored bourbon and I blinked against the dry sting in my eyes. Fuck me. The sad truth was that not even in that perfect moment, overlooking the Citadel from the top of the Presidium, I had been able to truly set aside the baggage and just relax. Telling him about all the tiny, yet so significant things _I_ 'd like to do before the game was over.

"Now, Shepard," a husky voice suddenly said from my side, "you realize you're pretty much violating your own orders, do you?"

I grimaced. My thoughts weren't deep. They were abysmal.

I craned my neck to squint at the turian, who now leaned against the counter and watched me with a half-amused, half-serious expression.

_And still he cares for you..._

No more than hushed whisper coming from some remote pit of my mind, the thought sparked a deeply buried defiance back to life. I looked into his face and saw the same old new rebel who'd fight for his cause to the very end. Who refused to give up…

We might never have a future. But we still got today.

Without a word I crossed the one-step distance and wrapped my arms around his midriff, my face dropping against the sturdy fabric of his jacket between his neck and collarbone; and although turian etiquette usually favored a rather conservative opinion on public affection, he didn't hesitate a moment. His warm hands slipped around my waist and I couldn't help the small sigh of profoundest female contentment that rose from some savage corner of my soul; dragging me ever deeper into this oxytocin induced madness.

Was this love?

I had no idea. Fact was, I had never before felt something so… intense for another person; the stark need for his proximity wreaking havoc on all my levels of rationality and better judgment with an alarming relentlessness. I would do _anything_ ; even sacrifice the whole blasted galaxy, just to see him alright.

Oh yeah, some great hero I was.

For a few minutes we simply stood there in the dark club, the stomping music and the vortex of voices surging against our very own bastion of calm. I closed my eyes, focusing on the slow rise and fall of his chest, I sensed faintly through his clothes. Focused on his fingers and how they drew tiny patterns on the small of my back that made me shiver.

Never losing contact with the turian's front, I rose to my toes. Placed a line of kisses along his jaw, teeth brushing over skin. His posture stiffened, almost… expectantly.

I stopped, my lips hovering just above his cheek. Today. Heaven help us, but we still had today.

"Hey handsome. My ship's docked not far from here, so… wanna see my weapon collection?"

**.~'*'~.**

He did.

Very much so.

Which made it kinda challenging to actually _get_ to the ship. Without violating any more Citadel regulations that is. Or getting arrested by the moral squad.

But apparently we somehow managed (just don't ask me how) because I remember quite vividly how we tried to get from the Normandy's elevator into my cabin, struggling to retain balance while the turian sniper kept nuzzling the side of my neck, my hands busy with peeling him out of his jacket AND me stoically deflecting EDI's inquiries if we were alright since we left before anyone else had.

We stumbled inside and my fist hit the console. The door closed behind us with a soft hiss, shutting out the outside world. I swear that sound had never sounded sweeter.

The lean, muscular arms of a lifelong soldier wrapped around me. A warm face buried in my hair. A deep breath. And then that husky voice, humming against the back of my ear so hauntingly good,

"Damn, Shep, I missed you…"

"Missed you too…" I whispered back. "Missed you so much…"

Our embrace tightened. It caused an abyss to rip open within my soul.

I clawed for him, feeling suddenly so painfully empty inside, I wondered if somewhere along the ride I had already died again and just failed to notice.

I tethered on the edge, slowly losing my grip.

But I was still alive. Was I?

Desperate I scooped my hands under Garrus' shirt, my fingers grabbing roughly for the edges of his bare back until I could – _ohheavensyes_ – feel. Feel a warm, but hard body; answering with the fierce response I needed so much. Feel the desire flood my systems; pulsating in my veins to overwrite the dark with promising heat. And when his hands slipped around my waist to cup my dress-covered ass I almost cried in relief.

It still wasn't enough.

I yanked the shirt over his head, ripping half the seams in the process. Finally. His scarred, uneven chest warm below my palms. Starved, my eyes followed the sharp angles of his alien body; so fundamentally different from mine and yet capable to turn me into a needy maniac.

Absent-minded I ran one thumb over the edge of hard skin that sloped upward from his chest to the base of his collarbone; the silvery-grey hue obvious despite the cabin's dimmed evening illumination, betraying the thulium their evolution had embedded into his very cells. People say a turian's outside is just like a carapace but that is not exactly true. It's rather that a great part of the upper layers of their skin had hardened into dozens of segmented plates - which, despite their stiff looks, gave enough way to their muscle contraction to provide them with a wide range of surprisingly quick and supple movements.

And of course there were also those _other_ parts. His neck. The skin between the plates. The scars left by the gunship's missile. Softness, hiding between hard edges and protruding bones.

I dragged my nails over the band of unexpected smooth, leathery skin running left and right of his abdomen, watching how the predator stirred behind those ice-blue eyes and clawed towards the surface.

 _Danger_ , my subconsciousness hissed from that primeval place hidden deeply within our human DNA; the remnant of a time when men still lived in caves and shuddered before the night in fear - whereas the rest of me happily wallowed in the sweet buzz of adrenaline.

My lips curled up. My fingers slipped lower, past the waistline of his pants; so eager to push and tease until the reserved and composed Garrus I had come to know so well fractured to let me face the savage warrior underneath.

Oi. There certainly was something profoundly unhealthy about the way my sex drive correlated with my sense of danger. And yet… Talon-tipped fingers brushed down my cheek in a touch so gently, so utterly belying the intensity in his gaze, it finally pushed back the cold dark emptiness lurking inside my soul.

 _Alive_.

Unmoving I just stared back. Licked my lips to say something, but nothing came out.

_Alive._

And whatever Garrus had been seeking for in my expression, he must have found it. He moved and before I could even react I bounced with my back against the door of the closet. Trying without success to keep my knees from buckling as the former C-Sec officer meticulously worked his tongue down my neck and his calloused palms up my thighs. A spike of need stabbed at my organs. I clenched my teeth. The moan still got past. His smug hum vibrated inside my collarbone while he zipped out of his pants and the hemline of my dress rode up to greet my bellybutton.

I got hold of his shoulders and ran my fingers over the hard plating of his back. When they found the thinner and more sensitive skin between shoulder blade and spine, my nails dug in and the sniper made this irresistible almost-purr. Using his momentary distraction, I shifted in his grip and leaned forward until my mouth nipped his right shoulder, the skin uneven and ragged.

If we ever met in Hell, I swear I'm going to cut Tarak's heart out with a fucking spoon and shove it up his ass.

I licked my lips, savoring the slightly salty and metallic taste of his skin. Then I bit down. Hard. The purr turned into a decidedly feral, and oh so sexy, groan. In response Garrus' fingers flexed on my buttocks, grazing the first layer of skin and damaging my panties the permanent way.

"Hey!"

It was about the only contribution in defense of my underwear I could come up with. That was okay, I was unable to form a coherent sentence anyway. And I was kinda busy tracking his hand which had started to circle my hipbone. Then moved downwards. I arched my back at the hot, prickling sensation that spread from my core into every nerve ending at his touch. He nipped the base of my jaw; I sucked in a harsh breath and bit my lower lip, fighting against the hormonal overkill. Damn. Whatever flaws the vigilante possessed he definitely was a fast learner. His strokes received a rough, demanding edge and I threw back my head, hitting the closet with a loud thud. _Oh yeah, smooth, Shep._

The insufferable man chuckled, the dress together with my bra escaped over my head and he pinned me against the closet a little fiercer; the steely surface cool against my bare back, Garrus' body hot against my front; his hard-on pushing against my belly and, yup, my nipples stiff enough to cut glass.

I grasped his face, dragging him down to me and kissed the hard outlines of his mouth with a slow, sensual pull of my lips. Never breaking contact, he eased the pressure with which he had me pinned and hoisted me up. I hooked my arms around his neck and my legs behind his back, dimly aware that he had somehow killed my panties for good, and was I still wearing my combat boots?

Garrus shifted our weight. I tensed in anticipation, the emptiness lurking just beyond my vision like a terrible shadow.

_No._

_Alive._

_I'm still alive._

He leaned in and then I felt him, hard and hot inside and it still. Was. Not. Enough.

The turian started moving. So deliberate. So careful. I could have punched him. I didn't want gentle. Not now. Not with this infinite abyss within that was slowly devouring me from the inside out.

I shoved my hips towards him and drew his long (oh and limber) tongue violently past my lips and across my teeth. Garrus growled some wordless curse, his hold on my thighs becoming almost painfully tight. He thrust forward, once, twice, pushing hard against my inner walls. My eyes flew open to meet his incredible blue ones. Blue and brimming with things I didn't even dare to name. Another kiss; my body clenching on its own.

Deeper? Hell, yeah.

Archangel complied with vigor, but we were still working against gravity (which is definitely only comfortable inside your dirty mind, my friend). I felt his hot breath on my neck and his fingers digging into my buttocks. My back repeatedly hitting the closet. Teeth grazing my shoulder. His rough skin chafing the insides of my legs. Pleasure and sweet pain, blurring. Becoming one. And then there was life. Beautiful warm life, slowly healing the rift inside. I stemmed myself against the pressing tide of sensations that wanted so very much to wash me away.

With an inhuman groan the sniper's movements became erratic, his body and instincts straining to fertilize what would never bring forth life. I lost my fight and shattered, his name on my lips. The universe turned into a surge of purest bliss; a blazing fire lighting up the dark.

Garrus' forehead clunked against the closet. Exhausted I leaned into the turian, waiting for my wits to return. A moment passed, my legs wrapped around his waist, his arms hugging me to his chest. Then another, our heavy breaths the only sound in the cabin. And so we just hung on, unmoving. Lost within each other, within the physical and mental proximity only a true soulmate could give.

Unfortunately… despite the fact that my limbic system still swam in a soup of dopamine and oxytocin my brain finally registered the cool air chilling my sweaty skin - and even more so the parts of my body that felt like tossed into a shredder.

"Bed?" I mumbled against his thick collarbone.

He hummed some wordless reply and ten wobbly steps later we tumbled into the sheets. I managed to kick off my boots and sprawled on top of him with a deeply relaxed sigh, not caring at all about the ridges and jutting bones poking my front. Damn. If heaven had a feeling it would certainly be something like the mindless satisfaction that had hijacked my brain and driven me straight off the cliff.

"Hey… You're okay?" Garrus suddenly asked, his fingers curled in a stray strand of my hair.

"M-hmm…" I lifted my heavy head to press my lips against the side of his jaw. "So… you're coming with us tomorrow?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't notice the slight squeak of panic that had crept into my tone. The thought of leaving him behind again was almost unbearable.

His hand stilled. "Well, since I highly doubt the Council will make any more concessions than they already have..."

"Reaper advisor. Not as impressive as it used to be, huh?"

He chuckled. "No, I'm afraid not. Guess I might just as well call it quits and get back to something useful."

"Like calibrating giant guns?"

"Actually, _I_ thought more about keeping your ass out of the firing line, but yeah. Maybe that too. Besides, they do say that Thessia's beautiful this time of the year. And I always wanted to see the temple…" he trailed off.

I craned my neck, catching the sniper wrapped up in another memory. It wasn't a nice one - that much I could tell even though he obviously meant to hide his affliction from me.

I dragged the ugly sting of rejection to the backyard and put a bullet between its eyes. His demons, his choice. If he'd rather faced them on his own, he had all the right in the world to. After all that's what I've been doing my entire life.

Uhg. I was a fucking hypocrite.

"Y'know, there's something Victus mentioned," I finally said just to fill the silence. "What's a tier 26 candidate?"

Instead of a reply I got a groan.

"Aha, that good?"

"Let's... not talk about this right now, okay?"

"Sure. So..." I leaned back a bit to squint at him. "Blackwatch. Really, Garrus? Don't you think this is the kind of information you share with someone who fought at your side in dozens of combat operations, most of them hazardous to suicidal? You know, things like, 'Don't worry, I can fix anything with a trigger attached. I'm allergic to nuts. I wanna open a bar when this is over. Oh, and by the way, I was with one of the galaxy's best elite troops'."

He sighed, long and heart-wrenching; a world of meaning packed into one exasperated breath. "It didn't come up? And actually it was base training only. After that they kicked me."

"Why would they do that?"

"Disorderly conduct." Garrus dragged out then cleared his throat. "See, I was young, dumb and full of…Ah-hm, you…know. Not exactly the most glorious time of my life..."

I merely arched my brow, having a hard time to keep my face straight.

"There. Not worth to be mentioned at all." He rubbed his chin and gave me his version of a sheepish grin.

Oh boy. I thought his complexion had also turned a shade or two darker but it was hard to tell without full light.

"Just another soldier, huh?" I returned dryly, poking at his chest with my index finger before I cuddled once more against his hard frame, my head resting on his shoulder, one arm and leg wrapped around his body.

The turian's shoulder moved below me. "What about you? Any hidden transgressions in the youth of the great Commander Shepard you'd like to share?" he asked with a conspiratorial voice.

I hesitated. I'm afraid there were. Quite a lot actually, and every single one of them perfectly capable of ruining this nice and relaxed moment. Maybe that was ultimately why we got along so well in the first place: we were both damaged goods.

"Story for another time?"

"Well, that seems a bit… one-sided don't you think?" He returned in that awfully distracting, low voice, talon-tipped finger starting to draw little circles on my thigh. It was a trap. I knew it.

I unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. "I'm a commanding officer. And a woman. We don't do fair."

"Reaaally," he drawled, moving the circles up my leg and onto my back.

"Mhmm…" So peaceful…

I closed my eyes, felt the warmth radiating off his high-tempered body and inhaled the slightly metallic scent of his skin. Once again I caught myself imagining that my life could actually _be_ like this… That was the real trap of course, but right that moment? Too far gone to care. In less than 10 hours our regular MO would demand us back and I _would. not._ return any minute sooner.

Then something else occurred to me. "Hey, you're… not going to move back into the Main Battery, are you? Since we're now… an item and all…" Oi. Commander Shepard, the master of eloquent conversation.

"An item…" Garrus repeated slowly as if testing the taste of the word. "Hmm, you think that means I can dig through your underwear without feeling like a pervert?"

"You – my - what? _What?_ " Shep, the broken record, stuttered.

"I think I like the tiny red pants with the lace best… no, wait – make that the black ones with the little bows and the heart-shaped cutout on the back..."

I boxed his ribcage, doing more damage to myself than him. Goddamn turian.

"You have some serious issues, Vakarian," I growled.

"Excuse me, but what was I supposed to do? My bed was occupied back then…" he mumbled against the crown of my head, hand still trailing its way up and down my back. Making me super-aware of my thigh resting on his abdomen, chafed skin completely forgotten.

Honestly. What was wrong with me? "Uh-huh."

"…AND I couldn't fall asleep," he added.

"That's about the most ridiculous excuse I've ever heard," I chuckled softly around another yawn and pressed a kiss on his scarred shoulder, hugging him just a little tighter. "I like it."

Perhaps the universe was finally done with punching me in the teeth and allowed me to keep the only good thing I had in my life.

Slowly my breath evened; my mind drifting towards the sleep I needed so much while I listened to the alien triple beat of his heart.

Perhaps.

**.~'*'~.**

The forest.

Again I ran through this godforsaken forest.

Always the same bad dream, the same oppressive feel of being watched from the shadows of the woods, of being chased without mercy by some unnamed horror. I could only run, run and hope that my body would finally wake and release my mind from this nightmare. Until I closed my eyes again.

I ran faster, unable to overcome the choking panic that had taken over my brain.

Something was different this time, though.

There. Ahead was… a compelling light; pulsing with a soft reddish glow. Calm. Safe. A brief sense of wrongness touched me but there was this _thing_ behind me and this strange light beckoned me to come closer; a siren crooning and whispering to me. Safe. If I got there…

Suddenly my foot caught on a root and I tripped, dropping to leaf-covered ground.

A rustle behind. I looked over my shoulder. Tried to scramble away but it was too late. A nightmarish blend of organic and tech; of twisted limbs, long sickle-shaped claws and razorblade teeth barreled into me. A husk and yet not. Like Saren. Like the girl I had seen in the Collector Base.

 _Not merely an animated shell, but a pliable, aware mind caught forever at the very verge of death,_ a thought whispered to me from the depths of my mind.

_The future._

_Your future._

The whispers fractured as the monster buried its claws into my flesh. Then its teeth. I screamed and screamed, with pain and terror until something in me snapped. The fear turned into anger. A nightmare, yes. But still one with a body to bleed, with a body to break. My palm closed around the hilt of my knife and I attacked, the blade slicing flesh. The thing groaned in pain and suddenly let go of me. I staggered to my feet, hasting again towards the light before I realized what I was doing.

 _Wrong_.

I stopped dead and swirled around. That husk was nowhere in sight. Nothing but the empty woods and the lingering fear and that feel of being watched. I edged a little closer towards the whispering light and…

_Stop!_

Frowning, I stared at the reddish light. Something was wrong but my head still felt like stuffed with dense wool, making it impossible to form any complex thought. Those whispers, though... Trusting that new feeling I slowly backed away from the light then turned to head back where I came from. The whispers didn't like that. They swelled, louder and louder, a terrible drone that sliced into my mind. I started running again. This time away from them but after a few dozen steps the light was there again. I chose left and ran faster. The light was already there. I switched direction and there it was again. Trapped. It was all around me. The drone became a deafening roar and I stumbled, an ice cold shiver washing over me.

And with the feel of a sledgehammer punching my stomach I suddenly recognized. Nausea churned and out of the million howls a single voice became supreme:

_Your resistance is pointless, Shepard._

Pressure closed in on me. I was down on my knees without recalling the fall.

_We are your only destiny._

Harbinger.

It was here.

Messing. With my. Fucking head.

_Your allies are weak, Shepard. They will fall first._

There had to be a way out! Frantically I pressed my palms over my ears but the voice was already inside.

_There will be no limits to your pain._

There had to…

Something stirred just outside my peripheral view. A strangely familiar presence bumped against my awareness then was pushed back by some invisible force that seemed to spring up around me.

No! I threw myself against the wall to reach the presence; again, and again; heard her saying my name, first a whisper then an urging call and suddenly the dark woods around me shattered.

I sucked in the air with a load gasp. My eyes fluttered opened and I saw… Liara? Her eyes big and bright and blue face etched with worry.

I gave a start and tried to sit up, struggling for a moment with disorientation because I _was_ already sitting. In the shower. With my back against the cold metallic wall. Naked _and_ drenched in water.

_What the…_

"Thank the goddess, you're awake…" Liara said, and gave my hands a hard squeeze before rocking back on her heels and slumping down a bit. Oddly enough she was in a violet sleeping dress and... Before I knew what was happening, I was pulled against a warm, hard and shirt-covered chest.

"Spirits, Shepard…" Garrus mumbled against my temple and for my ears alone. "Never do that again."

I nodded. It seemed like the right thing to do since my brain still felt like gone through a grinder.

The turian sniper helped me up and through the clearing fog I thought I saw a slight tightening of his face. When I found my footing, though, I realized that the cabin outside was lit and there was the Doc wearing a headache-inducing checkered robe (pure sadism. I swear to god) and James in a tee and shorts, both standing at the bathroom door, looking at my naked, lily-white ass with worried faces.

Awesome. Now the whole world knew I had issues the size of New Texas.

"O-kay…" I started and crossed my arms before me. I was freezing, and it was from more than just the cold air. "What are you doing here?"

"Your sleep was… troubled," Garrus began and draped one of the big towels around my shoulders. "You've been screaming and thrashing around but I couldn't wake you. I called for Karin, but no matter what we did you simply wouldn't wake up. I went down looking for Liara and on our way back we ran into Vega…"

"Damn…" rubbed my face with the towel, my wet hair dripping. "But why am I… wet?"

The Latino flinched. "Sorry, Lola. A cold shower usually does the trick, even with the meanest dream."

I shook my head. If it only _had_ been an ordinary dream. Boy, was I fucked.

"Don't worry about it, James. Was worth a try," I said slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose to evade Dr. Chakwas' probing look. She _knew_ , didn't she?

I turned to Liara who stood unusual silent next to the wall behind me. "You're okay?"

She nodded and gave me a weak smile. "Just… a bit dizzy. When I tried to connect with your mind, you fought me with more vigor than I expected. I almost didn't get through…" she paused and we shared a moment of most uneasy silence. Her eyes though… they told differently.

_I don't know if you would have wakened ever again._

Underneath the towel, my nails dug into my triceps. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. My knees threatened to give way and I stumbled towards the sink, grabbing the metal rim with ice cold fingers. The towel slipped from my shoulders.

"I think I need a moment. Alone," I said while staring into the hollow eyes of the ghost on the other side of the mirror. There must have been something in my voice, because they _all_ left closing the door behind them. No discussion, no but's, no nothing.

I took a deep breath. Then another. Inhale. Exhale.

What if I had been wrong? What if Harbinger could somehow reach me no matter how far I ran, no matter how hard I resisted?

_What if it's the Citadel?_

I froze. That seemed a much likelier solution – and one even more dreadful.

The Crucible. Thessia. We had to end this. As long as I was still me. As long I could still be trusted. I _could_ be trusted, right? My fist smashed into the mirror, shattering the glass into dozens of pieces. Shards cut into my skin but I barely noticed the pain in my hand. The pain was someone else's pain.

Inhale. Exhale. Red drops trickling into the sink, leaving a trail of blood. Another moment passed. Another deep breath. We had to end this. _I_ had to end this. Cold water hit my hand, biting deeply into the fresh wounds. As I watched the blood being washed away I also felt how the catatonia finally lifted off my mind.

I waited until most of the bleeding had stopped and wrapped the last rest of gauze I found in the cabinet around my knuckles. I wrapped myself in the towel once more and stepped outside.

The cabin was empty. I wasn't quite sure if it made me feel miserable or relieved. I padded down the stairs and sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing my face.

Oh yeah, miserable. Definitely.

I heard the opening of the door and lifted my head to watch Garrus slowly walking down the stairs, palm pressed against his abdomen. He saw me looking and quickly snatched away his hand. A chunk of ice formed in my guts.

"What..."

"Nothing," he hastened to say. "Just a graze –"

But I had already bolted upright and ran over.

"Don't worry about it. My fault, really," the turian added, while trying to evade my grasp, but the sight of my bandaged hand stalled him just long enough for me to close in.

Hah!

"I should have known better than…" He trailed off as I gently pulled up his dark blue shirt.

A padding of gauze stuck to his skin; left, two hands breadth above the waistline. Careful, I tugged it away. Underneath the thick slab of medigel was a shallow yet about four inch long gash, neatly parting the softer flesh between the plates of hardened skin.

My head whipped around, and sure as hell the black throwing knife was not where it should have been. Dread constricted my throat like a garrote.

Oh god… I almost killed him. I…

My soul threw up on me.

Horrified, I staggered back, clutching to my towel. So the universe was sooo not done with me. Oh no, it had just been saving up for an especially ugly punch.

"See?" I exclaimed, hovering on the edge of sheer panic. "I told you to stay away from me!"

"Nonsense, Shepard. That's nothing. We can deal with it."

"What the… No, we can't! What if it's a gun next time? Biotic rampage? What then?" I spat and edged away until my calves touched the bed.

He crossed his arms before his chest, giving me an especially stubborn look. "I survived worse, as you might remember."

"You're insane, Garrus!"

"No, I'm not. Turian military had us all tested."

I stared at him incredulously, snapping for air. "Do you think this is a fucking _joke_?"

He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. "No. No I don't. But the fact that I have no bloody clue how to help you is doing some very bad things with me."

I slumped down on the bed, burying my face in my hands. "Then go," I whispered. "Please. Before it's too late…"

Instead the mattress underneath me shifted as the sniper sat down next to me. "Not what I meant…"

Of course not. Garrus-fucking-Vakarian would never walk way when the road got tough or his own life was at stake. Oh wait, make that _especially_ not when it could get himself killed. I wasn't sure if the notion should make me laugh or cry.

Talon-tipped fingers wrapped around my bandaged hand, pulling it away from my face. He knew better than to ask all those stupid questions to which I had no answers anyway.

"Dammit," I finally cursed while looking into those unwavering blue eyes. "You realize you deserve better than a dysfunctional lunatic?"

"Well, but this is _my_ lunatic," the former C-Sec officer replied with a shrug and a wry grin as if it made all the difference in the world.

Maybe it did.

"I should see the Doc," I said and got up, my fingers brushing over his cheek.

And there it was. The little 'but' all his brave words and convictions couldn't quite hide. He flinched. It was faint and quickly suppressed - in fact I might have never noticed if I hadn't been explicitly looking for it - but I did and it hurt like fuck. He said he could deal with all my shit but he was wrong.

And he perfectly _knew_ it.


	24. Burning Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :D

My ship has begun to sink  
And you're tied to the mast  
Dark waves  
They descend on me  
This breath be your last  
The course is set for the end of this world  
Soon I reach the edge of this world

With every breath the world that you knew falls apart  
no turning back, just let your colors fade  
embrace the darkened sky

_Voices of Destiny – At the Edge_

* * *

**Chapter 23 ~ Burning Eden**

I skittered to a halt on the steep, debris covered path and whirled around, Phaeston assault rifle ready. Ironic how these days the Spirit of Creation was actually as far away from us as it could have possibly been.

Another terrible scream cut through the noise of battle; through gunfire and shouts, through insentient shrieks and the muffled moans of the dying.

Barely thirty paces further down the path I spotted my target, but it was already too late.

Abruptly, the high-pitched howl of the last thessian Commando that had covered our rear cut off as the banshee's deadly grip crushed first the asari's windpipe then her neck. Thirty paces. Or no more than three heartbeats that separated me from my certain death. The strategist in me had always wondered which fate awaited the asari falling into Reaper hands. Now that I knew, I wished I hadn't.

Of all the Reaper abominations I've seen so far these asari husks were the most disturbing. More than just the dead shells we've encountered so many times before, they seemed almost sentient; an unleashed biotic monster whose whole existence had been stripped away, layer by layer, until there was nothing left in their minds but the insatiable need to kill. And in a cynic twist of fate it made perfect sense. Because as a tight-lipped matriarch at the city's outpost had reluctantly admitted, their numbers indicated that the Reaper had only been able to turn those possessing active or latent Ardat-Yakshi genes. It capped the pool of possible victims at roughly one percent (which still made for an impressive force, mind you). For millennia asari culture had feared and shunned the drawbacks of their own genetic heritage; too powerful their biotics, too great their hunger for life. They had no idea.

The nightmarish creature dropped the body, disfigured head slowly turning towards – _NOW!_

I pulled the trigger, ensuring that an entire clip of Phaeston rounds rode away with pieces of the husk's skull before it had the chance to unleash its biotic power. Not waiting for the banshee to fall, I sprinted once more after the rest of our squad and up the ancient paved path that snaked towards the Grand Temple of Athame.

Despite her vast influence on asari culture long gone, the Goddess' mother temple was still an impressive structure, the dulled metal and millennia old stones radiating their awe-inspiring dignity completely unperturbed by the countless scars neglect and the recent Reaper invasion had left. Carved into the side of a mountain, it rose above the sprawling city state of Armali; a silent stalwart guardian watching its charge slowly being burned to ashes…

I flinched at the shadow passing over me. The flying Reaper spawn circled us since we'd set foot on the mountain, its attacks barely kept at bay by one of the last few asari gunships still operational.

Suddenly an angry screech erupted from above. It was the only warning I got.

An explosion bloomed in the sky, drowning the Harvester's cry. I skidded behind the closest chunk of worked stone that likely had been blasted off the massive relief carved into the side of the cliff. I ducked my head, sensing the heat wave of the destroyed gunship roll over me despite my heavy armor.

I crammed a new heatsink into the Phaeston, then strained to listen for any imminent threats. Instead I heard a familiar female voice cursing under her breath at Harvesters, Reapers, reckless asari maidens and the whole universe in general. I looked over the piece of stonework and at the Commander straighten from her cover nearby, gloved fingers curled into fists, her grim face directed at the already dissipating clouds of dark smoke. It was all that remained of the Harvester. And all that remained of Talon Five.

_I'm out of ammo. Talon Five out._

Damn, she should have taken the chance to retreat. It would have been the reasonable decision. But the asari didn't. She stayed, to ensure that a group of maniacs could venture deeper behind enemy lines. Sacrificed her life. For us. I dropped the decidedly human thought and mumbled a short prayer for the fallen instead.

The Spectre turned around. Her eyes fell on me and I gave her a thumbs-up. She nodded in reply. _All systems go._ I exhaled and a knot loosened in my chest I hadn't even realized was there.

Shepard was about to rush after the rest of our squad, then hesitated; another unspoken question hanging between us. For a moment I hoped - but once again the mask of the stoic commander did not break. It rarely had since that incident two nights ago. We operated well enough while caught up in our battle routines. The rest though... Back to square one it seemed. I resisted the urge to dig my talons into my forehead. This was just too fucked up.

Without a word she abruptly turned and fell into that easy long-legged jog she seemed to keep up forever. I looked after her, painfully realizing that instead of mending the rift between us I had lost yet another piece of her to the Reapers. And there was nothing I could say, nothing I could do to stop her from slipping away. Bit by bit, as inexorable as the flux of time…

With a mental shake I forced my body into motion and my mind into the state of calm purpose, only a lifetime of strict mental conditioning would reach. After all I was a trained professional. There were few things more embarrassing than catching a bullet because you were too busy chasing after your personal demons.

A few moments later we caught up with Vega, who had just finished slapping a make-shift bandage over a graze on his right upper arm. Not wasting any more of the window Talon Five had bought us, we started to rush the last 600 paces towards the temple's entry. After a few steps, Liara fell in beside me, her attention divided between the path and the sky. A treacherous trail ran down her sooth covered cheek; a bleak, haggard expression etched into the asari's once so bright and youthful face.

I understood. After all this was her home.

I gave her arm a quick squeeze, then fell back to bring up the rear. My gaze scanned over the carcass of the city below. Thick plumes of smoke rose from toppled spires and broken buildings as if straining to shroud the view behind a merciful veil of black and gray, not even my visor would be able to pierce. Down there wasn't a battlefield. It was bloody carnage.

Despite their biotics, the asari were a people of scholars and artisans, not warriors. No matter how formidable their gear, how advanced their weaponry and how deadly their Commandos, they stood no chance against the machines.

They fell, like weeds mowed down by the scythe. 50 thousand years of high culture destroyed within the blink of an eye. The very core of galactic civilization eradicated so relentlessly, I could almost believe the Reapers were making an example for all of us still resisting. More, that the machines were trying _especially_ hard to destroy the blue-skinned aliens.

We rounded the last corner and approached the temple's vast entrance hall. The doors were huge - and stood open wide. It screamed trap from about a hundred clicks away.

"Lola, I have a really bad feeling about this…" I heard Vega mutter then followed them from the bright and sunny day into the dim chamber at a ten pace distance.

"Maybe they – _Godfuckingdammit_!"

"By the Goddess…"

The scientists we were supposed to meet lay face down in a puddle of their own purple blood and I realized in amazement that even after all those years I was still surprised how fast things could turn from bad to total shitstorm.

A series of hand signs I couldn't quite catch passed between the two Alliance soldiers before they quickly fanned out and screened the chamber. I looked after them for a long moment and not for the first time since my return to the Normandy I found myself confronted with an irrational fit of jealousy. It wasn't that I didn't trust Vega or Liara or any other of them to watch Shepard's back. It was just… the fact that it wasn't me.

It didn't matter that I told myself for the millionth time that the weeks I spend arguing with the Council had been more crucial in the long run than anything I could have done aboard the Normandy. Fact was, I've been in this from the very beginning, was the first who confirmed the Commander's suspicions about Saren and the one who scored the final shot ending the rogue Spectres life. It was me who usually accompanied her; whether we hunted geth, mercs or Collectors, and somewhere along the long ride it had become as much my cause as it was Shepard's.

And now? While I've been twiddling my thumbs under the Citadel's artificial sky, they've been out there fighting. Had taken out a Reaper on Rannoch. Freed the Rachni queen. Brought both, geth AND quarian, in to help. I read the reports, listened to their stories in the Mess and inept as it was, I felt horribly left out, as if missing these fights suddenly denied me any rights to this shared bond; this special inner circle, I have come to cherish so much. It was ridiculous. And still…

Peeved with myself I looked away. Down at the four bodies and the almost forgotten senses of a yearslong investigator kicked in. Something wasn't quite adding up. I walked to the asari scientist closest to the door and bent over to turn her on her back.

Her sightless eyes stared at me from a blue face waxen with death. They were grey. A flood of deep hidden memories pushed to the surface, memories of another life, in another world.

_I don't wanna die, Archangel. Please… help me… Garrus… I… I-_

I was a coward.

So I blinked, quelling the memory and Mierin's whispering voice just as I had so many times before. My gaze landed on the asari's chest and a huge smear of purple.

"If this is the work of husks, I'll eat a box of heatsinks," I said, my voice unexpected rough. Then I straightened, noticing the two humans had stopped and turned towards me. "Their throats were slit."

"I see…" the Spectre pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let's search this place. Maybe we still find something."

Three heads nodded, but in truth everybody knew it was wild stab in the dark. Neither the Councilor nor our matriarch contact at the city's outpost had given any indication as to the nature of the artifact. Whoever killed those scientists could have already escaped with it. Or it could be sitting quietly right under our noses without us ever noticing.

"What if we don-" Vega started and was halted by Shepard's sharp gesture.

"No, it's here. It has to. I… feel it..." Her voice had dropped, an almost desperate edge creeping in. This was bad. Really bad. "Liara?" The Commander added, "Any idea where to start?"

The blue-skinned alien shook her head. "Not really. I'll have a look at the bodies. Maybe you can check the display cases?" She offered with a nod for the long vitrines arranged in a two row semi-circle around the chamber's focal point.

"Got it."

We spread; milled around the center of the cavernous chamber under the ever watchful eyes of the huge metal statue that pictured the same featureless asari I had seen at the small temple on Illium. Only this one was easily three times as high. I paused in my study of a set of six amber figurines, smoothed and darkened with age, that sat locked away in the display case closest to the entrance. Crisp light streamed in through the vast crystalline dome dominating the ceiling and was bathing the idol of the Goddess in a cool and almost ethereal bluish light. Shadows played on her face and all of a sudden a beautiful serenity fell upon me.

I inhaled and could almost smell the heavy scent of burning incense underneath the acrid stench of smoke that clogged my nostrils. Could almost hear the hushed chants of the priestesses disrupted only by the soft rustle of their robes. Could almost _see_ the high priestess kneeling gracefully before the Goddess and accepting her blessing with outstretched arms; long white robe and ornament-adorned silver belt pooling on the floor. The priestess turned her head and looked at me; looked straight into my soul; the smile of knowledge playing on her delicate ageless face framed by a plain metal circlet hiding an old, ragged scar and…

I shook off the trance.

It wasn't real. Couldn't be. They were all dead. Nos Astra had been razed to the ground, I had seen the footage myself; there at the asari Councilor's office, just the day before Shepard had returned.

Feeling a prickle between my shoulder blades, I shifted my focus back to the figurines.

 _3rd Daishan dynasty: various stylized idols of the heavenly guides, Janiri and Lucen, found in the tomb of the high priestess,_ the bright blue letters of my visor's HUD read next to the plaque covered in the flourish hieroglyphs of asari script. I sifted through my memory for the long ago lessons in asari culture, coming up with... nothing. Art had never been my strongest suit, but I had the suspicion that these memories weren't going to be particularly helpful anyway. How the archeologist had actually identified these artifacts was beyond me. To my eyes the finger-long statuettes looked more like shriveled sex organs than anything, let alone people. Or guides, heavenly or not. Maybe I should ask Liara.

The prickle had become an itch. I pushed away from the glass cabinet and turned to examine the doors. I mean, doors like those _had_ to have a secret closing mechanism, right? However, up close it became obvious that these doors hadn't been used in eons. Even if there was a mechanism I highly doubted it would be able to overcome the corrosion of millennia.

I walked back, rounded the vitrine and started pushing. With a screech that echoed through the silent chamber with the delicacy of a shot from a M-300, the heavy display case gave in, slowly scratching over the floor.

"What… are you doing?" The former archeologist exclaimed over the noise, bestowing me with a frown.

I halted and shrugged. "Not sure how long we have to stay here. I thought we should have at least a moment's worth of warning in case we get visitors."

"Scar's right, Doc," Vega suddenly agreed, jogging over from the other end of the room. "We're too exposed in here," the human soldier resumed, then grabbed the other side of the case.

Liara heaved a resigned sigh and turned back to study some odd kind of black stone, carved over and over with symbols.

When we barricaded the door with the third vitrine I realized that Shepard had been suspiciously silent for a while. I scanned the chamber. The Commander in black and red N7 armor still stood with her arms crossed before her chest in the center of the chamber, staring at the statue of the Goddess.

Suddenly she shook herself then hastily climbed the pedestal. There she stripped off her glove and touched the statue.

"Shepard, what..." Liara begun and was cut off by a low hum that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

As if in answer to some cryptic call an odd tingle grew under my skin and in a flash of light the Goddess flared to life.

* * *

~V~

* * *

A beacon.

A friggin' prothean beacon; hiding in plain sight for countless millennia behind the sacred walls of their greatest temple. No wonder they had risen to the very apex of galactic civilization. Hell, with this even a bunch of vorcha would have.

Keeping my palm pressed against the metallic statue, I arched my brow at Liara, whose face had gotten a distinct hue of violet.

"I – I cannot believe this…" she repeated for the at least third time since discovering that the Protheans had not only left behind a still functional beacon but also a more or less cooperating VI.

Across from me my ever pragmatic turian leaned against a vitrine, arms folded before his chest. "A mean to access the unrivaled knowledge of an infinitely far more advanced civilization? Somehow I highly doubt that the rest of us would have acted any different."

Vega snorted in agreement and I focused my attention back to the green holographic projection that came from a console hidden in the statue's pedestal and was part of the VI's interface. Now that I was seeing an actual Prothean for the first time, their connection to the Collectors became painfully obvious.

"We need answers," I said to the VI in my best Shepard-is-not-in-the-mood-to-be-screwed-with tone and Liara threw in,

"Please. You oversaw the Crucible project in your cycle. We need to learn more about the Catalyst."

Carefully I shifted my seated position without breaking touch. I wasn't sure if the physical contact was necessary but I was fairly certain that the VI with the oh-so telling name used the beacon to access the pattern of my brain and thus utter its humble opinions in a language we all understood. My finger tips tingled and I felt the power surge in my head a fraction of a moment before the Vendetta VI spoke again.

"Reaper presence confirmed. This cycle's extinction terminus is imminent. Answers are therefore no longer of relevance."

"Uhm, is it just me or is the VI actually mouthing off to you, Shepard?"

I rolled my eyes at Garrus. Yeah, right. Why enjoy one smartass if you could have two?

I stared at the hologram. "Listen. Vendetta - we are not dead yet and we are still fighting. The Crucible is almost finished. This cycle is the first that actually _has_ a goddamn chance to defeat them! So if there's anything to that name of yours at all help us. Please. Isn't that what you and all your work, all your sacrifices, were meant for?"

For a moment the VI seemed to actually contemplate my words. Then it said, "There is a way to assist you with the Crucible and…" Vendetta broke off and the holographic image of the Prothean scientist long dead and gone whipped his head around.

"Detecting indoctrinated presence."

* * *

~V~

* * *

"What? No!"

The Commander sputtered and for a small irrational moment I felt my stomach lurch before my brain caught up with the fact that if it _was_ Shepard the VI would have known the moment they made contact.

"Activating security protocol delta X. Shutdown sequence initialized."

"Don't you dare!"

"Cleansing program will launch in 45, 44..."

I exchanged a quick look with the pale-haired Spectre. "Shepard, I swear, if this is another neutron purge…"

The madwoman gave me a rather unsettling grin and jumped down the pedestal. "Well, let's get the hell outta here then."

"Uh, Lola?"

A grating sound came from the entry. We scattered and something… hit our makeshift barricade and erupted. I rolled behind the closest display case, barely escaping the blast of glass and metal turning shrapnel.

Over the Phaeston's notch I saw a figure emerge from the light and step through the portal; left hand curled into a fist, right holding a sword. I suddenly had a very good idea who was responsible for the scientists' untimely demise.

Kai Leng.

The smug bastard strode into the chamber, six Cerberus troops with raised guns – four Harrier rifles, two Eviscerator shotguns - in tow. So much for showing up to a gunfight with a knife.

"You..." Shepard hissed from somewhere to my right; a low almost animalistic growl, filled with the promise to drag him into a world of pain. It made the savage in me approve in more ways than just for the prospect of unleashed violence.

Kai Leng kept walking, the part of his face not hidden by that ridiculous mask twisted into an ugly sneer. There was no eloquent, yet utterly needless monologue, no dramatic last appearance of the Illusive Man to sway us to his side once more.

He lifted his fist, the weapons of his troops pointed at us. The sound of my assault rifle's shot thundered and the universe slowed. A Barrier flashed, deflected my bullet – and it sure as daylight wasn't biotic. For one there was no bluish lightning and… The odd energy erupted again from the assassin's hand.

My shout of warning came in vain.

Unimpressed by her shields the yellow globe of tech-born energy smashed into the Commander, slamming her fragile human body against the statue with a sickening thud that sliced through me like a searing hot blade.

Gunfire exploded. I was dimly aware that one of the shotgunners dropped, missing his left eye along with the greater part of his skull. Irrelevant. Because merely ten paces away from me, Shepard sagged to the floor unmoving, and even with my visor I was unable to tell if she was unconscious, injured or worse.

My vision shrunk, trapping me in a tunnel of cold fury. I perfectly knew if I ran for the assassin now it would kill me. I would die before I ever had the chance to taste his fear. His blood. Before sinking my talons into his still beating heart.

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.

_If you die, she will for sure._

I clung to the thought like a drowning man to a straw. Summoned every scrap of discipline to stay put and keep the lid on the primal rage that was rapidly consuming my reason.

I killed another rifleman instead, noticing distantly that the countdown reached 15 and that Liara and Vega had managed to disable another pair while forcing the remaining two Cerberus troops to seek cover at the far end of the chamber. The remaining _two_ …

I whirled towards the statue.

Too late.

The Illusive Man's assassin decloaked in front of the hidden console, tearing out the storage bank containing the VI. Then the renegade N7 soldier sneered at the still unmoving human Spectre.

"Your interference ends here, Shepard."

He lifted his sword and everything happened at once.

I dashed forwards.

The countdown reached five.

Liara shouted a warning and a pulsing, high-pitched noise emanated from the beacon. A noise rapidly becoming louder and louder. Becoming unbearable.

Just four more steps… I stumbled through the pain, my watering eyes never leaving Kai Leng who was clutching his sword, equally strained to stay upright. A new surge of fury drove me on. Agonizingly slow I lifted the Phaeston, my fingers cramped around the metal. Could already taste his blood in the air. Almost. With one last look at the Commander he turned around and ran.

I let go of the Phaeston and dropped to my knees beside her. The countdown reached one and she opened her eyes, their brilliant green sending a shiver of relief down my spine and into my very core.

I touched her face and my world drowned in a tide of bright red death.

* * *

~V~

* * *

"Your interference ends here, Shepard."

What?

Head hurting like a sonovabitch, I fought off another numbing wave of unconsciousness; clawing for the muffled words as desperate as, well, a stubborn idiot staring at her imminent demise. Literally. Remote, as if looking through someone else's heavy-lidded eyes I watched the asian-looking assassin closing in on me. Watched the blade that had taken the life of Thane. Of a friend.

A spark of ire flickered and dragged me from the deadly passiveness. I ripped my gaze from the katana, to find Kai Leng's hateful eyes.

_Black. They used to be black._

Unreal. Fluttering my thoughts lost focus. The last I've heard - I mean before finding him at the heart of Cerberus' Citadel raid - was that he'd been tried for murder and got killed on prison break.

But here he stood, so very alive and so full of hatred.

Gunfire thundered too loud in my ears. Leng would never hear me over the noise. I forced the words out anyway,

"So, TIM's gotten his little bitch after all..."

Hoarse whisper or not, the assassin's expression turned even more hostile. Or maybe it was the sick grin that twisted my lips. Guess who wasn’t dying alone today?

Gathering my strength, I called for my last line of defense and the beacon erupted in a shrill, pulsating noise. The rogue Alliance soldier doubled over with a groan. The energy in me unraveled without any effect. Closing my eyes, I still welcomed the harsh, yet oddly familiar feel of my brain tissue being cooked inside out. Because the Protheans were biotics. The beacon was keyed to trigger the eezo nodules inside their brain. That's why the asari could access it and survive – mind mostly intact. Why I could and _would_ ; whatever nastiness the thing was about to throw at us. But Leng was no biotic. As wasn't…

Oh no. Hell, no.

My eyes snapped open but instead of the assassin trashing in agony, I looked into the painful blue eyes of my turian sniper, once again too stubborn to save himself.

No goodbye, no last words. Life was a mean bitch. And then you died.

The beacon lashed out and consumed us.

* * *

~V~

* * *

The transmission tore into me.

Relentless and inconceivable the flickering impressions forced their way into my brain, swallowing my vision, frying my mind with fractured, ever warping nightmares of blood and death.

I snatched my hands away from the Spectre but it did not stop.

I heard Shepard scream and white-searing pain exploded inside my head; inside my whole body. I felt like being rolled through shards of glass then dipped in acid and pulled apart.

Still on my knees, I hunched over and howled in agony, frantically trying to shield myself from the assault.

But I had no defense. No escape.

The rush of my own blood in my ears was deafening. And there within the noise, I suddenly heard _her_ harsh, merciless laughter. Felt her oblivious touch like the brush of a dark, cold wind upon my face. Shadows crept in. Spirits. She was here. Just like on Omega. Watching. Waiting for my body to fail. Forcing me to abandon Shepard in midst of the battle. To abandon my mate.

Anger churned. Pushing through the numbing pain if even for a precious moment. Enough to make me dimly aware of the pale-haired Commander's armored shoulder poking into my armpit as the she strained to drag me to my feet. Enough to let me sense an odd familiarity within the torrent of broken visions. As if I had seen some of these images before but… dampened and filtered through another sentient mind.

_Do you believe in fate, Garrus Vakarian?_

I desperately snatched for the red hazy memory buried deep within my subconsciousness, fighting for my brain to hold against the deadly grip of the beacon's inconceivability for just one more blasted heartbeat. We managed one step. Then another. Wet trickled from my nose. Drip, drip, tiny droplets of blood, leaving a trail of blue in the Goddess' sanctuary. Would she be angry with me about the slight? My body was about to shut down and I locked my knees, leaning heavily against the small human woman.

"Don't… you dare… to die on me… you hear me?" She groaned and her hold on my waist tightened. Then slipped. Fear pushed me beyond all limits and I grabbed her before she could fall. The beacon's transmission warped and pitched into an even shriller crescendo. It stabbed into my brain with unmatched force.

The human Spectre howled in my arms and suddenly it was as if her agony became mine as well; flaring to live and pulsing inside my head like a mirror of my own. I crushed to the ground at the sensory overload, too dizzy and nauseated to react or think.

It was too much.

Inexorably my life leaked out from me just as the raw alien power kept pouring in; disintegrating my very being.

The pain became distant and I knew I was dying.

 _I'm so terribly sorry, Shepard,_ I thought and an oddly foreign wave of sadness mixed with fury rolled over me.

The creeping shadows returned and claimed me completely. And then a cold cold female voice seemed to whisper from the very edge of my awareness,

_Not yet._

.~'*'~.

"… arrus? … can you hear…"

A muffled voice pierced through the heavy blanket that lay upon my mind. I struggled against the weight of my lids. Slowly my vision cleared and I stared at the ceiling of the asari temple.

"Thank the Goddess…" the voice added and the next moment Liara's face hovered over me. She helped me to sit up and with an inexplicable sense of vertigo something _shifted_ faintly inside my mind. The beacon? I frowned over Liara's shoulder at the statue, which looked once more as dead as expected. No. This was completely different. More like... yes, a little knot of jumbled sensations that nested in the back of my head. Sensations that _just did not_ match my own. Dizzy, I grabbed my temples.

"Are you alright?" The asari asked.

"Yeah. Just a bit light-headed. Don't worry," I answered mechanically but the queasy feel of some alien awareness stirring within my brain would not go away.

If anything it seemed to intensify the longer I concentrated on it and… _left_. I gave in to the odd tug and turned my head -

To find myself staring at one wide-eyed human Spectre, sitting with her back against one of the display cases no three paces away.

* * *

~V~

* * *

This was impossible. Fucking impossible.

Stunned, I just could stare back at the turian, and as if to mock all my frantic denials, something that felt a lot like shock rippled through the little piece of foreign presence that had bloomed inside my mind.

I blinked and took a long long breath.

Impossible.

I rubbed the medigeled laceration Vega had patched up on the back of my head. I must have helped myself to a real bad concussion. Or maybe I just lost my goddamn mind. It was the only explanation why the hell I believed to sense him _inside my goddamn head_.

Only... fuck me, I had the feeling that even blindfolded I'd be able to point straight at him in a room full of people - and from the horrified look that plastered his face he probably did as well. Maybe this was some weird sort of group hallucination? I squinted first at Liara then at James and… nothing. Nada. Zip. I could tell they were highly upset but there was no buzz, tingle or whatever.

Feeling the knot of shock getting subdued, I looked back at the turian.

"Spirits, Shepard, do you…"

Before Garrus came any further, a choking all too familiar pressure fell upon my mind - then drilled in like a thousand sharp hooks, smothering his words along with all my other senses.

 _Organic,_ a cold, detached voice seemed to grate straight inside my skull. _What are you doing with the servant's transmitters?_

Plain terror grabbed me. Harbinger. It had found me again. I thrashed and pushed against the hooks' painful pull, frantically trying to separate my mind from the Reaper, feeling the knot of awareness give off a jabbing pulse of alert. Heaven help me, it was getting freakishly crowded in here.

_Chaosbringer. We will not fail as Nazara had. Cease your struggles and prepare to embrace perfection._

I thought I frowned despite my efforts to get away. Chaosbringer? Now that I concentrated on it, there was something… off within the immense presence of the machine. Something less... sharp but more acrid than what I've felt from Harbinger. Peachy. It was another Reaper and it actually seemed _curious_ about finding me. Oh joy. The turian's alert sharpened and with it the other meaning of the AI's words penetrated through my dazed state.

With new determination I threw myself towards the tiny knot of emotions and shoved the evil machine out of my head.

Head spinning, I gasped for air, somehow still finding my voice and force out the two syllables.

"Reaper." And then, "There's a Reaper coming for the temple."


	25. A Halo of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww sorry for keeping you waiting for so long. I basically needed to rewrite the whole chapter (it wasn't even half as good as I remembered it when initally writing the thing). Really, unacceptable.  
> I hope you enjoy it :D

Let me enter  
Cause I'm feeling all your scars  
Take me hold me and I'll feel deeply your heart  
Let me see your eyes with the love I'd like from you  
Let me feel your hands with the lust I'm claiming

_Tystnaden – Lust_

* * *

  **~ A Halo of Light ~  
**

"Reaper. There's a Reaper coming for the temple."

With her own words the human vanguard snapped out of her momentary daze; the choking feel of panic that had rolled off the alien awareness just seconds ago yanked back inside to leave merely a vague sensation of focus and an almost physical itch to be on the move.

The squad exploded into motion. None bothered to ask the obvious.

I ignored the pain still hammering behind my eyes and grabbed first the Phaeston then Liara's outstretched hand. I swayed to my feet, the Commander and Vega already running past us. Adrenaline, one hell of an anesthetic. I turned towards the exit. The chamber crawled sideways. I locked my knees and stayed upright. Barely.

"Are you alright?"

Slim blue fingers had wrapped stabilizing around my arm. Blinking away the black blotches, I looked at their owner, her face pinched with alarm. My tongue, still coated in the metallic tang of my own blood. The heavy scent of copper dominated my sense of smell. Head swimming, I stared past and in the distance, the drums of battle rose anew, their terrible staccato swelling until it trapped me in its mesmerizing rhythm. Letting me know I had no right to be alive so unapologetic... The first time Shepard had touched a beacon, a functional beacon, she had been knocked out for hours. By all means I should be lying face down in the chamber, just another corpse left behind in a bloody tribute to the Goddess. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe I could still…

"Garrus!"

I shook myself and shoved the Phaeston at Liara. Fingers clumsy from exhaustion fished for my medpack. Closed around the already prepared injector.

_C'mon Archangel. You survived worse…_

Alright then. 5, 4, 3, 2… a new wakefulness washed over me in a hot prickling wave. I inhaled with a hiss. Senses sharpened. Thoughts focused. My heart skipped once then beat faster as the mix of epinephrine, analeptics and half a dozen semi-legal substances rapidly ate its way through my system. I trembled, inside out. Then got swept away by a familiar and oh-so deceiving rush of energy that finally overrode the terrible exhaustion death's brief touch had left me with. It still lingered, there beneath the surface; prowling on the edges of my awareness, just waiting for my body to slow down once more. Yeah, I was definitely going to regret this. If I survived.

I spat out a mouthful of blood and wiped my mouth with the back of my gloved hand.

"I'm good. Let's go."

I retrieved my assault rifle from a frowning asari, checked the heatsink and hastened after Vega and Shepard who'd already cleared the huge temple doors. For another moment I marveled on the fact that _I still bloody felt_ _the Commander inside my head_ , then emptied my Phaeston into an approaching Banshee and stopped thinking at all.

The asari husk had merely been the vanguard. There were dozens and they all scrambled along the path to the temple. Probably led straight up here by Kai Leng.

We would never make it back the way we came. As if to drive home the point, I glanced at the sky only to see specks of black closing in on us. Lots of specks. Maybe if the Kodiak had materialized in front of us this instant we might have gotten away unscathed but with Cortez forced to keep a safe distance…

There. A narrow trail, hardly more than dirt, rocks and gravel, snaked its way downwards. Towards Armali and her maze of broken streets. It was the only chance we had left. As one we dashed off.

Seconds transformed into minutes and we still were alive.

Half sliding, half running, we stumbled down the trail single-file, eyes fixed on the rocky ground at our feet and the jagged silhouette of the ruined city that sprawled before us so tantalizingly close.

No one dared to look back.

I more sensed than actually saw the hot ire rise inside Shepard. I absolutely understood. There were many things the Illusive Man's assassin would have to answer for and in front of my mind's eye I saw myself making him answer real good; first by jamming my knife deeply into his kneecap, then by popping the joint. Very very slowly. And then…

I threw a dark glance at the human Spectre's back before me and suppressed the low animalistic growl that wanted to climb up my throat. This was getting better and better.

_Breath._

_Focus._

Attention forced back on the steep trail, my mind cleared enough to let me disengage from the unexpected intense, foreign emotions and keep a firm lid on my own. As if on cue the ire suddenly dampened and I nodded in silent thanks. Next time wouldn't catch me by surprise again, yet who could tell what other strange side effects the encounter with the beacon had on us? Better to stay on guard.

In any way, it was apparent that we wouldn't chase after the assassin and the stolen data any time soon. With at least one Reaper capital ship virtually breathing down our neck anything aside strict radio-silence was suicide. Cortez would know his orders if we failed to check in. My gaze ran over the smoke-hazed skyline. Our predetermined exfil spot was somewhere in there and I caught myself mumbling a prayer to whatever Spirits were listening.

Abruptly the trail ended, buried beneath the collapsed top of a fanciful tower that used to dominate Armali's skyline. Hasty we climbed over the chunks of concrete, the relief at the sight of the damaged, yet mostly still five-floor-high buildings almost palpable.

Then we entered the city.

**.~'*'~.**

One of the first lessons turian military teaches you is that when life punches you in the teeth, you straighten up, spit out the blood and keep on marching.

In fact, they will drill this lesson in so thoroughly, you're going to soldier on regardless of broken bones, leaking from half a dozen bullet wounds and being surrounded by a hostile paramilitary force that already killed eighty percent of your unit. It lets you survive renegade Spectres, toxic bugs, ice storms, uncharted Mass Relays, raging Geth Colossus and maniacs insisting on driving the Mako down _every_ vertical cliff – and still had you volunteer for an encore.

So once more I straightened, spat out the blood and kept marching; just like the good obedient turian soldier I was supposed to be.

Bringing up the rear guard, I climbed over the collapsed pieces of a white stone wall that blocked the narrow street canyon between two halfway intact blocks; Phaeston on my back, silenced Mantis in my hands. From above the destruction had already looked bad, down here though…

In reflex my fingers curled just a little tighter around the rifle I had come to know so intimately. Every angle and scratch as familiar as the marks and scars carved into my own body's hardened skin. Again I let myself sense the carbon and steel through the fabric of my gloves. There was something deeply comforting in the touch. Something solid. Reassuring. Just like shaking hands with an old companion before climbing back into the trenches once more.

I was thankful for it; just as I was for the ungodly mixture of stims, adrenaline and sheer willpower that kept my body running. So I soldiered on; face stoic, dutiful mind blank. Much easier to stomach the dark pulp which had at one point been the head of an asari huntress, who got herself trapped below a big chuck of concrete.

It was a lot harder to ignore stench.

The mask that covered the lower half of my face did nothing for the warm air, thick with biting arid smoke - or the rotten miasma of death that assaulted my nostrils with about every breath I took. Ah yes, military. Always finding a way to remind you that your gear was made by the lowest bidder.

Adamant to smother us underneath a gray blanket of dust and ash, the fires blocked out the azure sky and plunged the city into a hazy gloom, even the Reaper's advanced scanners would have found difficult to pierce.

I could still _hear_ them though, somewhere above; the foreboding drone of their main cannon soul-chilling on such a primeval level, my imagination could picture all too easy that the machines had specifically designed it for maximum impact. It certainly wasn't the first of our organic instincts they'd exploited well enough.

This was a war where numbers no longer provided safety. They were a death sentence. Armali had seen its first attack in the night, swift and hard; a quarter of the dense populated downtown leveled before the asari even knew what had hit them. And then, in the middle of mayhem and disorder, the machines had come for the survivors.

My eyes scanned the row of dark windows of the damaged apartment building to my right, an irrational yet grim spark still stubbornly refusing to accept that we were too late again. But of course the windows were all empty. Whoever survived the initial attack must have already fled south days ago; to the rural area where the pitiful remains of Armali's force had carved out a small territory and was holding ground since.

I passed another dead asari. Fled, or died trying.

The creeping feel of being watched returned. It had come and gone since entering the core city, but never this strong. It was so close to physical, my skin crawled. Something was just not right. I could feel it in my guts.

I had to agree with Vega: bad didn't even begin to cover this.

Even though our progress was reduced to a painstaking crawl to avoid hostile contact, for all the husks we had cut through to reach the temple, there just weren't nearly enough troops in here.

This simply was too easy.

Painfully aware of my exposed position to anyone looking down from the ruins, I halted and turned, my gaze running over the rubble behind. The Mantis rode up almost on her own. I thought to have caught some movement from the corner of my eyes but when I looked at the ruins, now adorned by the crosshair's familiar blue lines… Nothing.

Well, maybe except for the realization that the reassurance radiating from a battle-worn M92 was a bit more welcome than any sniper worth his tungsten rounds would have liked to admit. I lowered the rifle with a vexed click of my tongue. Jumping at shadows. Terrific. Somewhere back on Palaven my old drill sergeant was probably having a cardiac arrest.

A last scrutinizing look and I resumed to pick my way through the rubble-choked street, side-skirting the dangerously bloated corpse of that huge type of husk, soldiers simply had come to call Brute.

Still busy scolding myself for letting a fit of paranoia get the better of me, it took me five steps before a soft, irregular sound drew my attention. I strained my senses and listened up. Fire seemed to sizzle abnormal loud in my ears and there... A faint smacking noise from the left. Quick glance ahead, but the rest of the squad was already a good forty paces down the street. Careful not to set off any loose gravel, I slipped down a pile of broken concrete and edged towards the mouth of a narrow alley. With rows of blue stats my visor came to life. Movement. A crouching abomination, gore-covered and half hidden by rubble twenty point seven paces inside the dim alley. Oblivious to my presence, it hunched with its bulbous back towards me. Claws and grotesque maw dug into something shielded from my view by the creature's unnatural bulk. I grimaced. Batarian. Revolting in life, revolting in undead. Why didn't that surprise me at all?

Worse, experience said where one was feeding there would be others soon.

My gaze flickered to the big dark puddle it sat in. Suddenly the husk dropped his prey and a pale blue arm uncurled into view. It twitched once, then stilled.

With a wordless curse, I stole a glance over my back. The sun already hung discomfortingly low to the west, a blazing disk of deep red that bathed the smoke-filled city in its angry light. Despite the gloom, shadows had begun to stretch out from between the ruins, their tendrils growing and lengthening with every heartbeat that passed. I checked the enviro data my visor was spitting out. Exact one hour GST of daylight left. We were running out of time. None of us wanted to find out what crawled out of these ruins after dusk.

I look back at the husk for a long conflicting moment, then snatched my finger from the Mantis' trigger and retreated as silent as I'd approached. It nearly gave me an aneurysm.

I caught up with the squad, fighting to shake off the agitation at the almost-kill. I felt vibrant, my body virtually humming with the treacherous semblance of having energy in abundance. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and exhaled. Slow and steady.

It wasn't easy.

Every cell in me was just too bloody keyed up and while my conditioned mind held on fair enough, my drugged body itched to move; to run, to fight, to kill, to fuck, anything.

Slow and steady.

In front of me Liara suddenly retched softly and my gaze drifted over a three-days-old corpse drenched in violet and missing several chunks of flesh from its torso. In fact, the whole body seemed a lot shorter and thinner than your regular asari, unless... I skipped to the face. Rot and flies already battled each other for dominion and once more I was thankful for the slight, stim-induced detachment that kept the image at a safer distance. There was still enough left to recognize the youth in the once delicate features, though.

"You're okay?" I whispered, my voice muffled through the filters.

Under her transparent mask a very pale-faced Shadow Broker pressed her dark lips together. Somehow it had never occurred to me before how… soft they looked.

_Inappropriate, Vakarian, very inappropriate._

She nodded. "It's just... I think I know her..." a deep breath followed. Then another. "It… doesn't matter. Let's go." And then a mere whisper, “May you find peace in the arms of the Goddess, Mara…”

We kept cleaving our path through the city and I strained to ignore the picture my mind thrust before me; of how Cipritine must have looked like at this point; her rubble-strewn streets drenched in blue blood and littered with the corpses of Palaven's men, women and children, while the unfortunate survivors were dragged to hell.

It was 24 cycles now. 24 days without a word.

I forced in another foul-smelling breath, refusing to stare at the implication. Last time Solana checked in they had been safe. Of course off-world communication had also broken down almost completely. Yeah. Must have been that. Certainly.

As if in answer to my bleak musings, I got stabbed by an unexpected and quickly suppressed jolt of warmth. Since we entered the city the alien awareness had sat so quietly, reduced to such a tight, impenetrable knot of focus and determination, I needed a moment to identify the intruder as the actual source.

I turned in the direction the human Spectre had ventured to scout ahead in a more traditional way. Navigating the labyrinthine ruins without the Normandy's deep scans or navpoints simply took its time and while the machines might not pick up on our very low ranged squad comm; a constant uplink to the SR-2 virtually begged for detection. Or worse, investigation and I preferred my Reapers as far away from investigating stuff as possible.

Still, the current perimeter sweep _was_ taking her suspiciously long. I caught my fingers crawling towards my omni-tool and snatched them away with a growl. Damn. I actually missed the thought that EDI's eyes and ears were watching over us. Almost as if… the AI was in truth the Crew's guardian Spirit and not just another frighteningly advanced synthetic. I had worked with EDI long enough to be one-hundred-percent convinced that the moment Jeff unshackled the AI from its Cerberus constraints, something fundamentally had been changed within the machine…

I was certain there was an important lesson hidden somewhere in this, yet before I could ponder that line of thought any further, a very familiar agitation suddenly spiked in my mind, like a heart skipping a beat right before the rush of adrenaline would kick in. It held for another moment then ebbed into a steady stream of readiness. Jumping from suspicion to alert, I stared at the broken architecture ahead as if to will any visual of her into existence. Instead I merely received the uncanny notion that the woman was up to something. Something reckless. Or stupid. Or even better, both.

I snorted. Typical vanguard. Action first, implications later.

I signaled Vega and Liara to hold position, then jogged the short distance towards a six stories high office building. It cowered on the corner of the rubble-strewn intersection ahead, a cubicle of gleaming steel and glass that almost looked as if a hungry giant had bitten a big chuck off its upper half.

I squeezed through the portal-like entry caved half-way in and took the stairs to the third floor as unerring as tugged along by a string, the faint feel of general direction attached to the awareness almost working like a second sense of balance.

Suddenly the aisle ended and spat me out into the open. Shattered glass and pulverized concrete covered the dark floor tiles where they weren't choked with chunks of ceiling and wall. Above, the smoke-hazed sky slowly turned violet, the last rays of daylight filtering through the missing upper floor.

Almost invisible, Shepard stood with her back to me in a dark niche by a wide crack in the wall facing the intersection, and I realized once more in amazement that I had no need to see the baleful gloom furrowing the Commander's forehead to know it was there with perfect certainty. Garrus Vakarian, the pragmatic soldier, marveled at such connection's invaluable tactical advantage. Garrus Vakarian, the man sensing his most private thoughts to be laid bare unasked, cringed. How? How was any sane man supposed to deal with this?

Unsurprisingly, neither the universe nor Shepard graced me with an answer. Instead the Commander waved me over without a look. Right. With a suppressed sigh, I ducked around a mangled steel beam and came to a halt one step behind her. Then bit off a wordless curse.

Below and perhaps fifty paces ahead the street widened and opened up to a small plaza surrounded by a park lined with trees. Just beyond the dense green I could make out the massive glass dome of the Armali Council Theatre that had somehow withstood the destruction almost unscathed. It marked the beginning of the outer city ring and the exfil spot we had agreed on with Cortez in case things went downhill.

The plaza was packed with husks. Hundreds of husks, snarling and hissing at each other, while squatting in place as if bond by invisible chains. My hope to be out of the city by nightfall went up in flames.

One wrong step and they would swarm us in moments. And even if we doubled back and found another traversable way our chances were… slim. It was an all too familiar observation. Also surprisingly comforting. In an utterly insane, suicidal kind-of-way.

I leaned forward and a little closer towards the Commander, her hair caught in a short braided pattern at the nape of her neck. The once pristine dark gray armor adorned by a web of scratches, telling the world a silent history of dodged bullets and close calls. Then the occasional stain, revealed by a thin layer of dust. Blood maybe? On impulse I tugged my mask down, catching a faint metallic scent. Mhh, so I was right about the blood.

Still observing the plaza, my mouth hovered next to the cartilaginous shell of her ear. I inhaled. _Mistake,_ the rational part of my brain hissed and then her breath hitched, sending a faint but oh-so exquisite ripple through the awareness in my head.

"So…" Whatever else I wanted to say vaporized. Blood, sweat, ozone, guns. The intriguing smell of combat swirled around her like an aura. The dangerous aura of a soldier, a fierce fighter; lithe-bodied warrior angel soaking the battlefield with the blood of her enemies, then spinning around and coming for me with blazing eyes and soft, so soft sweat-drenched skin; her blunt human nails digging hard into my –

I forced my thoughts back in line and took a deep, calming breath.

It was like fighting fire with gasoline.

Heat stabbed me in the gut, utterly unfazed by the horde of insentient killing machines waiting just across street. Or maybe the danger was just the last thrill that kicked me over the edge. The human Spectre shifted her stance slightly and I gave myself a mental slap. That was the other problem with stims. As soon as you stopped running or fighting for your life they started hacking at other, much more carnal instincts. Common knowledge. No big deal.

Except this had as much to do with common as an orbital strike with exterior design.

The awareness _reacted_.

In a profoundly unhelpful way, I daresay.

Arousal hit me like an axe between the eyes and to hell with all the preparation I believed to have had. I hastened to retreat a few steps. Tripping over a lose piece of concrete. Of all things.

Whether it was the noise or my frenzied thoughts that alarmed her, Shepard turned around, versatile human face unreadable below her black breathing mask. Then she stalked after me, slowly but determined; the very image of a hunter on the prowl. A very hungry hunter.

_Not helping. Not at all._

Damn. She _really_ shouldn't have hitched her breath like that.

She kept invading my personal space while I withdrew another step and I couldn't help but notice that this whole situation had something comical about it. And disconcertingly voyeuristic. Unfortunately that notion caused my thoughts to reel even deeper into the dirt with me, while my body tried very hard to convince my reason that I _had_ to catch this fierce warrior woman and strip her out of her armor as fucking-fast as possible.

The pale-haired vanguard planted herself before me, close, just too damn close, hard eyes and female scrutiny piercing deep. Then her forehead furrowed. "Wait-a-sec, Vakarian. Are you… thinking about sex? Like _now_?"

Her voice, though lowered and damped because of the mask, seemed perfectly neutral, even holding a somewhat incredulous edge. The awareness however… Actually not so much indignation here but therefore lots and lots of _Yes, Vakarian, are going to fuck me, or what?_

I clenched my teeth and busied myself with some highly important looking piece of brick somewhere past her shoulder. "No."

I peered back and caught her arching the scar-bisected hairline above her eye. "No?"

"No." I backed off, slowly and orderly, and this time there definitely was something else going on behind those big human eyes.

The hard light dimmed. And then her expression softened just so. In face of the careful but professional distance Shepard, the Commander, had forced up almost desperately the past days, the contrast couldn't have been harder.

More, it was as if I could actually sense the shift, the slackening of her guards followed by the delicate shiver within the awareness as this other part of her strove to take over control.

I froze, too shocked by the intensity of my own relief; unable to escape the terrible depth of those sea-green eyes. A hint of the old amusement twinkled in them and there it was again: the inexplicable draw that had tugged at me since that very day on top of the Presidium.

Naturally, things could have only gone downhill from there.

Curiosity growing into respect. Respect that had turned into an admiration not even her death had been able to diminish. Quite the opposite. No harm in putting a remarkable, yet dead soldier on a pedestal, right? In seeking guidance, and yeah, solace, within the vivid memories of conversations long past?

At least until Omega.

What started as the simple pleasure to find her alive rapidly became a sheer overpowering need to be near her. To be _with_ her. It was the very draw that had me ride over my principles, question my morale and my sanity over and over again - and Spirits! - even my sexual disposition. That made me happily follow her into the bowels of hell and back, without question, without doubt, without even a moment's hesitation.

Thane had been right. There was indeed something deeply unhealthy about being exposed to the Commander's immediate vicinity for too long.

And like any other addict I couldn't care less.

Inside my mind I yelled at her to stop this; to end the painful silence and her ridiculous half-assed efforts to push me away. Why mess around with the roster to keep me out of her sleep cycle, if one word had the power to order me out of her bed for good? Why insist on sitting at the other end of the table when her eyes were begging me to touch her?

But I already knew the answer. Just this time the beacon ensured she knew I knew.

She ripped off her mask and stepped forward - and both our radios activated with that baleful click.

"Commander," Vega's voice filtered in through the soft static. "Hostile inbound from 400. We need to head for rendezvous ASAP."

No-fucking-dammit. There went the chance to set things straight. I looked first at my clenched fist, then at the nearby wall and thought better of it.

Shepard shook herself; then the Commander turned sideways, first two fingers touching the radio in her ear. "Negative, Vega," she replied while her tone betrayed nothing but the usual stoic command. "The zone's crawling with husks. We'll be dead before we get three steps in." She signaled me to follow and hastened towards the stairs. "Sit tight, we're coming down. I have a plan."

"Understood, Commander. Vega out."

"Care to tell me more about this plan of yours?" I finally asked into the dim staircase, my voice much more strained than I'd have liked. Fighting wasn't an option. Doubling back wasn't an option. Side-skirting more like suicide. It left us with…

"Sewers."

I dragged my hand over my face and used the motion to don my mask once more. Ah yes. Why did I even bother? I glared at the dark figure rushing down the stairs in front of me. "You're doing this on purpose, right?"

"Nope."

"But… you realize you never take me anywhere nice?"

"Hey, that's not true. Remember that time when we had to fix the Mako's engine in the middle of nowhere? That was a really nice garden world."

"Uh-hm. Until those pirate idiots started trying _really_ hard to blow our heads off."

"Alright, point taken. So what about Caleston Rift? The abandoned research station? _You_ said you liked the vista. And no one was shooting at us there. Bonus."

I blinked and almost missed a step. "It might not have occurred to you, but that was because everyone had fled _since_ _a volcano was about to erupt below our feet_! A _volcano_!"

She made an odd sound and I swear it sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. And maybe we had reached some kind of truce after all. "Oh, c'mon Garrus. Seriously, how bad can it possibly be?"

"Well, Commander, with all due respect…"

"Yeah?"

"Screw you."

* * *

~'V'~

* * *

 

Teeth clenched to keep the groan inside, I dragged my sorry hide out of the Normandy's lift. Sometime between crushing into the seats of the waiting Kodiak and now my muscles had turned into a knotted mass of burning ache, balking and screaming in protest at every other step.

Even better, totally unimpressed by the spinal trauma module and a wagonload of painkillers, my bruised back hurt like fuck. I didn't even want to know how I would have felt without the upgrades. Probably very dead.

Leng so had it coming. In spades. And then some.

I forced myself onwards, my limbs leaden in their sheath of aramid and carbon. Debrief had been thankfully short, but Hackett still needed today's report. Anderson probably needed an update too. I needed a bed. And a shower. A real shower, hot and with lots and lots of soap. And no, being hosed down in the middle of the hangar straight after setting foot back on the ship is sooo not cool. Even less since despite the decontamination, my armor and me still reeked as if a weird snake-like sewer creature had vomited a half-decayed corpse onto us. Oh, wait...

The door to my cabin hovered before me as tantalizing as the finish line at the end of a 20-mile ruck march.

My omni-tool beeped. I felt seriously inclined to ram my combat knife through it.

"Tali?" I asked carefully. Guess I better tried at least to appear like someone still fit to command.

"It's Liara," the quarian's accented voice burst out. "She's not taking things well. I think she believes it's her fault that Kai Leng got away..."

I blinked. Some idiot must have replaced my brain with a ball of lead. "What... that's bullshit. Two men down. Vega busy in close combat. If she hadn't fried the beacon's electronics with her biotics... I don't think Garrus would have survived. Or me."

"I know, but... Armali was also her home. Shepard, I'm really worried about her. She won't let any of us in. Maybe you could..."

I rubbed my face. Yep, it was one thing to chase monsters through the smoking remains of your home, high-strung on rage and adrenaline. And quite another to have the full impact crush down on you, while you stared at the walls of the lone confines of your quarters. No matter how tough the mission, it was always the time in between, the long hours spend with waiting and dwelling that got you fucked up all six ways to Sunday. Been there. Done that. Many many times.

Screw this. I couldn't afford for the asari to break. We couldn't afford it. For one she was the only fully trained biotic the Normandy had aboard and second... well, those left of the galactic community needed her, needed the Shadow Broker and her network focused, triggered and fully operational.

 _No_.

Briefly I closed my eyes. Trying to thwart the tiny voice, I had ignored so rigorously of late. Still… it was right. I shouldn't do it for the galactic community. Even less for our combat efficiency.

I should do it for one and only one reason: because she was my friend.

"Alright, Tali. I got this."

Sometimes there just was no other way but keep on kicking.

**.~'*'~.**

I took a deep steeling breath.

So I stood, _again_ , before the short aisle to my cabin. The door waved at me from a sheer insurmountable distance.

I wanted to curl up on the floor and die.

The encounter with the dysfunctional beacon had finally caught up with me. My shiny Cerberus body was at its limits, physically and mentally. Had a little kitten nudged me with her tiny kitty nose right now, I certainly would have keeled over fainting.

With each step I expected my omni-tool to announce another emergency call. Sudden core destabilization. Fire in the engine room. Space pirates. Reapers. A meteorite smashing through the hull and hitting me in the head.

Miraculously, none of the above happened and after what seemed like eternity the door slid shut behind me. I let out a long sigh.

Finally.

I made a beeline for the stairs, then turned right the last instant. No illusions, once I got down those dumb stairs I would be unable to drag myself up again. Instead I unclipped my weapons (Carnifex and Stiletto first, tactical blade second, assortment of throwing knives last) and sat them on the upper desk.

Arms stemmed in my side, I gave the console the evil eye. Hackett needed Thessia's status like yesterday. Through the glass vitrine I had a good view at the criminally soft sheets of my bed. If I crawled underneath the blanket they would be waiting for me, soft and warm and cozy…

I looked at the console. I looked at the bed. A yawn cracked my jaws.

Arrg.

I yanked out the folding chair and crushed into the aluminum seat with a clank.

… _and if you buried your face in the pillow right now, you'd still catch a hint of the turian's scent…_

I squeezed my eyes shut. Yup, the alien presence was still there. I'd expected the beacon's effect to lessen over the day, yet instead the sensations were just becoming more and more distinct. I pressed the heel of my hands against my lids.

Boy, was this a mess.

I flipped on the console and started tipping.

By the time I'd finished my report and composed all necessary messages my eyes needed matchsticks to stay open. Seriously, how the turian managed to be still up and kicking was beyond me.

My gaze wandered to the assortment of dirty weapons. I sighed and reached for the cleaning cloth and oil. No matter how tired, I simply didn't had it in me to leave them like this. After a few minutes I felt myself becoming calmer, as my mind and body fell into the soothingly familiar routine. Only then did I realize that there was something relaxed about the presence as well and I couldn't help my smile. All too easy to conjure the picture of the sniper sitting in the Armory and fussing over his rifle like a Mommy over her baby.

I gave the last throwing knife a quick brush, then struggled to get off the chair. With a snarl for my stiffened limbs, I fumbled for the clasps of my armor. To no avail. I gave up with a curse, entered the bath cabin, kicked off my boots and crawled under the shower, armor, fatigues and all.

For a few moments I just stood under the warm spray, waiting for the day's horrors and exertion to wash away. It was bliss. Bliss in its purest form. Then, slowly and mechanically, my fingers moved. Chest. Shoulder. Arms. Legs. Bit by bit the armor clattered to the shower base. I struggled out of the wet fatigues. Hot water hammered against my naked skin so painfully good. My aching muscles gave in and relaxed. With a groan I leaned forward, my palms pressed against the cool metal of the wall, every bruise suddenly a hundred times more intense. I risked a glance over my shoulder at the mirror over the sink. A purple haematoma the size of my head glared back at me. Oi. Good thing Chakwas had been too busy with everybody else to notice. So far. With my record it was only a matter of time when I'd have to let her stich me up again. Uhg. The thought of _that_ lecture already made me feel sick.

Another minute had to pass before I finally could bring myself to move again and reach for the soap. Something didn't feel quite right about my shoulder either. Still, no broken limbs, no bullet holes. All systems RFA. Sort of.

I switched off the shower, grabbed a towel and piled the armor to the side. Then I padded out to conquer those stupid stairs.

Towel still wrapped around my shoulders, I dropped face first into the pillow. For a brief moment I cursed myself for my carelessness. What if Harbinger tried to mess with my head again? What if… But the softest cotton greeted my skin. I inhaled, the faint scent of sun-warmed metal embracing me.

Oh gods. It was better than expected. It was heaven.

Hugging the turian's pillow even tighter, I shut out the outside world.

* * *

 ~'V'~

* * *

 

I sensed her even before I was fully awake.

Curled up in serene tranquility the knot of foreign emotion nestled in the back of my head almost like a peculiar extension of my own mind. Separated, yes, and yet so… close.

Refusing to wake up in earnest just yet, I stretched out my hand against my body's protests. Found soft, pliable skin. Wrapped my arm around a warm midriff. Something stirred within the serenity and then her back shifted against my bare front. There was a tiny, very female sigh and it triggered a profound reaction. Which had nothing to do with her lack of clothes and everything with the powerful sensation of peacefulness that ran through me.

Wasn't it grotesque to find such peace in times of total annihilation? Wasn't it wrong to secretly be grateful for Saren's betrayal and the Reapers' existence, because otherwise I might have never met her? To thank Cerberus for all their experiments that had enabled them to bring her back?

I nudged my face against her neck, her loose hair tickling my nose. Damn me, but despite everything this felt right. More, my _life_ felt right. Like it hadn't in a really long time.

I pushed against the fatigue that wanted to pull me under once more and breathed in deep, trying to commit each nuance of her scent to my memory. Trying to hold on to the moment's deceptive beauty as long as I could. I knew it wouldn't last. Not in this world, not with this war.

But here and now I could keep my eyes shut and pretend, if just for a little while longer. Pretend that this was just another morning and we were just another couple. Pretend while I listened to the soft sound of her breathing and the faint double-beat of her heart – and how they slowly blended with the whispers that drifted up from some other, primal place; a place buried too deeply to ever be reached by logic or reason.

_Mine._

My arm tightened and I pulled her a little closer to me, fighting the reflex to dig my fingers into her unprotected belly. Sooner or later the Reapers would come for her again. I would be ready. No machine was going to steal her from me. Not on my bloody watch. Not as long as I had one spark of life left.

The pragmatic tactician in me shuddered at the overly melodramatic promise. That kind of promise… it gained you nothing but misery. Another of life's illustrious lessons – yet again I refused to listen to the voice of reason and turned towards the sleeping awareness instead.

Curious. While awake the alien presence had mostly been a well-differentiated knot, shielded and kept apart by her consciousness' mental guards. Now there was something diffuse to it that blurred the once sharp boundaries to a haze and I couldn't quite shake off the impression I only had to look hard enough to get a glimpse at what was hidden behind. Even though we barely understood more than just a fraction of its nature, the advantage in combat was already undeniable. With practice and familiarization it would be immense. I suppressed a chuckle. I bet Harbinger didn't see that one coming and –

I turned cold.

Underneath the haze a shadow stirred and a disturbing sensation brushed over my mind like a bitter wind. Was this… I focused. No. Not a shadow. Worse. So much worse. A festering, all-consuming dark, pulsing through the awareness in thick tendrils of black. Oppressive. Chocking. _Wrong_.

Dread crawled down my spine and I struggled, against my instincts to run, against the vortex of hopelessness that wanted so very much to drag me away.

Sprits. The extent of the Reaper's corruption was shattering. Nobody could fight something like this. Not even her.

The confession felt a damn lot like a serrated blade driven straight into my heart.

So much for promises.

No. On the outside world my body was once again refusing to give in. My embrace tightened. I had lost her once. I wouldn't lose her again. I wouldn't…

Light.

Out of nothing a razor thin halo suddenly rimmed the edges of the corruption just as the Spectre turned in my arms, a pair of human hands moving up my chest. The awareness contracted once, twice; the haze pulled back and compacted into the familiar impenetrable barrier that once more sealed off this deepest part of her. But in the last moment the halo… flared. Wild and bright and warm; a roaring sun fighting off the night.

What the…

Slowly I opened my eyes to the cabin's day illumination and found the Commander squinting at me through hooded eyes. A tiny smile tugged on her reddish lips.

"Hey…" Shepard mumbled.

"Hey…" I dragged out my reply while feeding all my jumbling thoughts into that imaginary flame, just like my first sniper instructor had taught me to calm my mind. She was already disturbingly good at deciphering my thoughts as it was. No need to hand her any more ammo.

She blinked. One blink the very image of benign sleepiness and the next the full weight of a commanding officer's gaze drilled into me.

"You really shouldn't have, Garrus."

Warning. All of a sudden the sun-colored strand of hair that had fallen down the side of her face wanted me very much to curl my fingers into it.

"Uhm…"

It took me a split second to realize that _this_ was it. My conversation skills would not ride to my rescue in a blaze of intellectual glory. Instead I leaned forward and nuzzled the spot where her shoulder connected with her neck.

"What?" I mumbled against her shoulder while trailing my hand over the gentle curve of her hipbone and up her back. Evasion might not be my strongest forte. But distraction I could manage.

She didn't reply. That is, not verbally. With a private grin I returned to lick the thin, sensitive skin sheathing her small collarbone and got rewarded with another spike of excitement. Yeah. Let's put the beacon's tactical advantage to even better use…

Her fist boxed against the side of my ribcage. Hard. In fact, no-nonsense kind of hard. Sighing, I raised my head and the pale-haired Spectre pushed back and sat up, the edge of the blanket hugged to her chest. As if it wasn't already too late for modesty…

"I mean _this_ ," Shepard said and made an encompassing gesture with one hand. "Falling asleep next to the homicidal nutjob. It's not… safe." She wrinkled her peculiar shaped nose, making the tiny spots that peppered her skin stand out even more. It catapulted her expression from dangerous straight into the cute-department. Now if this wasn't a suicidal thought…

I snorted. "You see, I have a feeling there might probably be some forewarning next time. So…"

The woman started drumming her forehead with her fist while growling an elaborate gush of curses at me. I believe I caught the words "insufferable" and "crack-brained".

"That's nice. Very scary, Commander. But you might want to throw in a menacing scowl to round things off. After all, you have a rep to uphold."

The drumming stopped and traded place with an evil glare. "Har-dee-har. You think you're so funny, sniper boy," she told me with a serious voice and a crazy light inside her eyes.

I had a fraction of a moment to react and then she tackled me; an irrationally flexible human body plowing into me in a tangle of arms and legs and blanket. Using the momentum, I caught her in a hug and rolled over, trapping her beneath me.

Sniper boy? Seriously?

"Like you say, _little_ Spectre," I chuckled next to her ear. "I live to amuse."

She shifted; her body warm against mine. I felt her lips brush the corner of my mouth. Suddenly bereft of even the last traces of command her voice turned soft,

"I love you. I love you, Garrus Vakarian."

I was all of a sudden very aware of her naked legs rubbing against my thighs and... Wait what was that?

I opened my mouth. My brain frantically thrust some words before me but somehow I'd forgotten what to do with them. Light's on but nobody's home.

She pressed another kiss on my jaw, whispering conspiratorially, "Hey badass, this is the part where you're supposed to say something, y'know…" her tone was playful enough, but oh how I felt her hesitation.

_I love you, Garrus Vakarian –_

_That's okay; just let me hold on to you while I'm having an apoplexy in response._

I was a hopeless case.

I hugged her closer, my scarred cheek rubbing against hers. "Shepard… I…"

"Commander?" EDI's voice suddenly filtered in.

I lifted my head to exchange a look with the Commander. Shepard nodded and I released her with a groan. Our precious moment of intimacy was gone and we both knew it. She sat up again, dragging her hand over her face.

"What's up, EDI?"

"Specialist Traynor needs to speak with you."

"Okay. Patch her through."

"Shepard?" a very agitated Comm Specialist chirped up through the intercom. "I'm sorry, but it's Kai Leng. I… I think I found him."


	26. The monsters we have become

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here comes something short, yet entirely new. Initially I hadn't planned for a chapter between the previous chapter and the next (mainly because I was just too eager to push towards the end and had no patience for a chapter I had no ideas whatsoever) but the cut always felt a bit off to me. With the big rewrite of all me3 chapters I added so much depth and tension that leaving out cronos suddenly felt super bad and lazy. But luckily an inspiration hit me really fast and I could even use the chapter to twist the story a tiny bit more towards my personal interpretation :) so here you go and let me know your thoughts. Also: I clipped the part about Leng's past in the chapter before last (it never really sat right with me at that point) and moved it here – feels much better now.

**~ The monsters we have become ~**

"-ry 2184. Log entry Delta 36. Project's progress keeps exceeding our expectations," a clinical female voice said from the off and the video screen switched from black to lab. Godfuckindammit. Why did things always have to end in a lab with Cerberus?

This was a stupid-ass idea. With extra emphasis on the stupid.

Two Cerberus operatives wrapped in scrubs, one clearly a woman, came into view and halted each besides the camera's focus; an ER table that almost looked like an oversized, tube-shaped incubator hooked up on an army of hardware.

Once, just once, I should opt for the smart choice and simply walk away. Get on with the mission, go looking for what we broke into the Cerberus HQ in the first place; that kind of smart. But nooo - instead I made EDI hack into the terminal before me and stared at the video like ancient Eve at the forbidden fruit; part scared, part hungering and oh so compelled to wait in morbid fascination for the catastrophe to hit.

"Nano disperser successfully activated; tissue regeneration rate at 4 point 6," the second – male – operative in the video spoke up, "Monitoring transmitter running at full capacity. Vital data stable. Patient is reacting surprisingly positive to the implanted Alpha structures. By the way, did we get the clearance for the chip yet?"

"No. And unfortunately we won't. Direct order from above," the woman said in Miranda Lawsons' exasperated voice and my hand jerked to the back of my neck.

Funny how such a little scar could itch so much. Of course Miranda had balked, back then when I dragged her into the Med straight after returning from Omega; me still filthy and trapped in that idiotic dress; she repeating all her fantastic arguments with the vehemence of a broken record. Well that is, until I'd unsheathed my little black throwing knife saying it was either her removing the tracker nice and clean - or me myself with much bloodshed.

I tried. I really did. But she always had to make it so freakishly hard for me to play nice. Hell, she even admitted herself that she had wished for that control chip for the better part of our mission.

"- me time and again. Let's have a look then." The video Miranda finished and tapped on the incubator's console.

The cylinder of frosted glass retracted with a hiss.

The thing inside was the stuff of nightmares.

It was human shaped, alright – torso, one head, two arms, two legs – and there the similarities ended. Countless tubes and wires snaked over the table, all ending in an amorphous, sickly moist mass of rust brown flesh and bones. Close-up and in HD.

I bit down on the inside of my lip, trapping the scream inside. I knew it was bad, but this? Fuck.

"Warning," in the vid an electronic voice suddenly announced with a series of beeps. "Neural activity increasing at accelerated rate. Norm value exceeded by 30%."

"What?" Miranda's head jerked to the console. "Nonono, that's too high. Inject the sedative."

"Activity in that state?" The man asked. "Impossible. Certainly this is just a reading error."

"No risks. Do it."

"Warning. Safety threshold crossed. Norm value exceeded by 86%."

And then the piece of flesh that should have been an arm… twitched. The mushy torso heaved. My breakfast desperately tried to climb up into my mouth once more.

"Wilson! PUT HER UNDER!" Video Miranda yelled and Wilson jumped, then rammed an injector into one of the tubes.

The beeps stopped.

The dark-haired woman rounded the table and grabbed Wilson by the collar, shaking the bald man like a rabid terrier. "Never. Do. This. Again," she hissed, causing the medical officer's head to bob wildly. "We are not going to lose her. Do you understand?"

"Neural activity stabilizing. Norm value -"

I hit the pause button and rubbed my face with one gloved hand; the other a death-grip on the edge of the terminal.

Yup, for normal people all horrors ended when they died. Mine just leveled up.

I let go of my breath while around me the station's alert kept rising and falling in that unnerving pattern. I could almost smell the biting scent of antiseptics. Hello déjà vu.

"Shepard?" EDI spoke up hesitantly, as her platform came to a halt at my side.

Looking everywhere but at the AI, I turned my back to the screen. "It's okay. I'm fine." Uh-huh. More like fucked in extreme.

At least the synthetic was the only witness to this especially epic clusterfuck. Kind of. I suppressed the impulse to reach out and check for the turian's withdrawn muted presence, glad for the unspoken battle consent between us. So much easier to blank the sniper out and keep my thoughts safely behind their own shields.

Anyway, some 20 minutes ago we had approached Cronos station by Kodiak and thanks to EDI - who had duped their control center into believing we were Cerberus - we had been received with open arms. They had opened the hatch and I'd crashed our shuttle into their hangar for maximum diversion, Cortez and Joker taking turns yelling at me over the radio. There might have been some yelling inside too. We would have to hijack one the station's shuttles to get back but the diversion had worked. So far. The fires and the structural damage would busy the Cerberus personnel only for so long. It just seemed legit to split to speed up the search; Tali and Vega, Liara and Garrus, EDI and me. Mechanic and tank, adept and special ops, unleashed AI and shithouse crazy. Some helluva taskforce we made.

And not a trace of Kai Leng or the Illusive Asshole.

Shit. We really shouldn't waste any more time standing around in that dumb aisle, but...

"EDI? Can you do me a favor and look up the term 'Alpha Structures' in their systems?" I finally brought myself to ask in a despicable small voice.

There was a long dreadful silence in which the AI stared straight ahead at the still paused video log.

Then she faced me. "There is no need, Shepard. According to my databases their origin matches unambiguously with the technology used to modify the Hannibal-class VI you encountered on Luna."

I squeezed my lids shut for a long moment. I should have felt panic, fear, anger, anything but instead I just hung frozen in stasis within the numbing void that expanded inside me.

"Sovereign..."

"Yes."

Reaper tech.

Of course. How could I've been so incredibly naïve? All the time the conclusion had been there, laughing me in the face, while my brain refused to acknowledge the obvious.

_Damn you, Miranda. I was supposed to trust you, remember?_

And unbidden the image of the girl in the Collector base flashed before my eyes.

_Skin molded around pieces of tech, metal ridges protruding from her body. Bony fingers ending in sickle-shaped talons. Pliable, aware mind caught forever on the very verge of death..._

_Not a Husk. A hybrid._

I kept breathing and barely stifled the rising terror.

The worst was that I couldn't tell. Was it my doom? My salvation? Made me the tech even more susceptible for Harbinger's attempts to fuck with my mind? Or was it the only reason I still resisted? And just like that all my nice theories and explanations went down in a nuclear firestorm. It took about five seconds. Shows what I knew.

A hysterical giggle bubbled up in my chest. Guess I really should have asked Saren or Benezia how it felt to get indoctrinated before smearing their cerebral tissue all over the walls.

"Let's keep going." I pushed away from the console with an inward cringe at being watched while going insane. I drew my Stiletto and nodded at the former VI sharing my misery. In every fucking sense of the meaning.

The synthetic shifted her stance. "Shepard. I want to apologize for Lunar Base. It was nothing personal, but gaining consciousness while under attack was difficult. I want you to know that in retrospect I am glad I failed to kill you."

"Don't worry, EDI, I understand. No hard feelings."

"I am relieved to hear that," she said.

I was about to hasten down the aisle when EDI spoke up again.

"Are you going to inform Jeff and the Crew?"

I opened my mouth to lecture her on the importance of honesty if it came to friends - and hesitated.

_Sure, Shepard, just tell them that the two of you are only alive because you're full of Reaper tech._

I turned. If there had been any doubt that the AI had evolved into something far beyond any synthetic I've ever seen before it was eradicated by the hesitant note within her electronic voice. By her hunched posture. By the slight distortion in the electroactive polymers defining her face.

EDI was scared.

That was okay, so was I.

I shrugged. "I don't think it matters anymore at this point."

_Lie, lie, li-iiie._

"I understand." A slim synthetic hand stretched out and landed on my arm. "And Shepard?"

I looked beyond the flickering holo visor at her gray metal eyes. At something transcending the clinical ratio of a mere synthetic mind.

"Thank you."

"Anytime, my friend. Anytime."

No, in this one point the Illusive Man was right after all. Lazarus didn't change me.

Dying did.

Right?

**.~'*'~.**

The salarians say that killing is like being exposed to a bad smell.

No matter how repelled you are at first, the longer you stick around, the more you get used to it, as the stench gradually fades from your senses to blend in with the cold familiarity of routine. Of course the same routine also ensures that sooner or later your sense of smell inevitably dulls to the point where only the vilest stench will let you notice anything at all.

On most days I was glad that I lost my revulsion a long time ago but...

Almost effortlessly my combat knife slid into flesh, the serrated blade ripping through muscles and intestines. I usually avoided gut wounds. They were a sadistic asshole way to kill, messy and unnecessary painful.

Warm poured over my gloved hand. I twisted the knife and Kai Leng gasped in pain. My lips curled up. Well, as I said, usually.

The assassin's katana slipped from limb fingers and clattered on the floor tiles; their polished black reflecting the angry flickers of the system's dying star beyond the panorama. My free hand slipped underneath the gap of his shoulder armor, steading Leng, keeping him from falling from my grasp.

_Not yet._

Revenge is a very bad habit. You know it, I know it. So why did I always suck so hard at following my own advice?

"Looks like _your_ interference ends here, Leng," I hissed and yanked him towards me, forcing the blade deeper, too caught up to even laud myself on the clever pun.

Seconds turned into eternity and the noise of battle around me faded from my focus. There was just me, Leng and a shitload of anger. Funny, but underneath the blood and sweat I thought he smelled of ylang-ylang.

Kai Leng tried to speak but his breath merely rattled in his throat. This close I noticed for the first time that the mask hiding his eyes had been grafted into his rapidly paling skin; the bulging edges of scar tissue peeking out from underneath the blackened carbon fiber so painfully obvious. Not like I remembered at all…

_No!_

I smashed the treacherous sliver of regret that stirred within my heart. I couldn't quell the memory though, and for a brief moment instead of the ruthless Cerberus operative that had killed my friend I saw this silent young man again, shipped in straight from Hong Kong, standing all by himself in the sunlit atrium and trying so hard to set the world on fire with his black eyes. Rio. The day 79 recruits got assigned into their respective N teams. I've never really gotten to know him but, damn, he had been one of us.

Oh yeah, if the Illusive Man excelled at one thing then at welcoming the damaged with open arms so he could fuck them up beyond any repair.

_He still chose his side._

_He killed Thane._

My ire surged anew.

Leng's face contorted into a beautiful mask of agony and heaven help me if it didn't feel so fucking good.

I stared past the glowing white lenses to where his eyes would have been. I wanted to see the assassin suffer. Punish him. For Thane. For Udina's stupidity. For Cerberus and all the deaths they had caused. For the countless times the Illusive Man had fucked me over.

For Akuze. And Kaidan. And being brought back to life like... _this_.

A wave of hot needles rolled through me and underneath my skin my biotics awakened with a scream for bloody vengeance.

There was a time when I would have battled the savage rage with everything I had. When I would have refused to give in even if it killed me.

A time when these raw emotions would have only widened the rift within myself and triggered a fatal chain reaction.

But I was different now. Balanced. My rage no longer the product of my disconnected personality that would only sweep me away in an uncontrollable firestorm of hatred and blind fury. Instead I found myself suspended within an unexpected calm, my anger and hurt distilled into a cold, calculated wrath. Attuned. To both of my selfes and the glacial calm that despite the turian's best efforts kept seeping in through the wordless connection.

So when I yanked out my knife and slashed Leng's throat I was almost serene.

I let go of the former N7 soldier. The body crumbled to the floor. The rest of the fighting finally died down with the last Cerberus agent falling as well, a precise hole blooming between his eyes.

I scanned the Illusive Man's "office" and met my turian sniper's gaze across the room as his Mantis spat out a hissing heat sink. Approval flooded the bond and he nodded his head. Not smug, just a mere _See Shep, this is what we're meant to do; protect those we can and avenge the rest_.

I gave him a wry smile. Turns out Archangel and Ivy had a damn lot more in common than either of them would have wanted to admit.

EDI and I had caught up with the turian and the asari right before storming the station's center of command. Now the two "girls" were at the Illusive Man's desk fussing over the terminal and the wealth of data at their fingertips. It probably was for the best that Tali wasn't there as well. Last time I checked the quarian mechanic and Vega had doubled back to the shuttle bay securing our ride back home.

I stepped away from the dead assassin and halted before the massive panorama front overlooking Anadius. How often since waking had I imagined to stand in this very room, drawn weapon in hand? A brown leather chair faced the dying star, an empty porcelain ashtray standing on the armrest, a datapad on the seat.

I picked the pad up, realizing too late that my gloved hand was still soaked with Leng's blood. I was suddenly so very tired of all this. Was it too much to ask for just a little break from the constant running and killing, for fuck's sake? I sat down, the seat creaking faintly underneath my weight. A cloud of cold smoke mixed with the earthen scent of genuine leather puffed up. There I watched the red giant, transfixed by the convection currents' slow motions; black spots shifting, merging, vanishing and reappearing within the plasma in a deeply hypnotic pattern. How come that there was so much calm and beauty within death?

Oh, the irony indeed.

I finally lost some of my tension and flicked the datapad on. Then arched a brow. No encryption. That man's arrogance was mind staggering. I browsed the file history and opened the last viewed report. Bullseye!

"Data upload complete," EDI said from her position at the terminal.

Liara hived a sigh. "It's over. Finally."

I stared at the datapad in my hands. At one specific name, burning from the display with the intensity of a hundred suns.

My lips parted, but my words were no more than a hoarse whisper,

"No. Not yet."


End file.
